


The Morning, the Moon, and the Typhoon

by Rinbin



Series: The Morning, the Moon, and the Typhoon [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: (but a kind-hearted kind), (but they don't mind once they find out), Accidental Voyeurism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Based on a Tumblr Post, Body Paint, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, Mementos (Persona 5), Minor Spoilers, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Paint Kink, Teasing, actually a tumblr artwork--it's linked!!, haha i can't breathe i'm so happy paint kink is a tag, implied ann/makoto but I won't pursue it as a story line (sry), it's beginning~, jk i pursued it a little harder #noselfcontrol, meaning established yusuke and akira, mementos is the best place to hook up dontcha know, ryuji's workin on that self-acceptance, setting is mid-pyramid palace, the holy trinity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinbin/pseuds/Rinbin
Summary: The title of this series comes from how I like to think of each boy: Yusuke is the morning, Akira is the moon, and Ryuji is the typhoon :) It's gay but guess what SO ARE THEY.Akira thinks Ryuji's got it bad for him (he does) and Yusuke thinks it's about time Ryuji gets what he wants (it is). They come up with a plan to nudge Ryuji in the right direction--purely for his benefit, of course.Note: PLEASE check out the artwork that inspired this series. Not only will it complete your life, it will help you understand where I'm goin' with this.





	1. Where Morning Greets Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Akira/Yusuke/Ryuji](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/294444) by Swan. 



> Y'all mind if I wild out on this one? I'm an Akira/Ryuji girl until I die but I saw swaname's art and became delighted at the idea of both boys tugging at Ryuji's heartstrings (among other things hehehehe). Ryuji doesn't stand a fuckin CHANCE.
> 
> No direct Akira/Ryuji interaction in this one but it's coming. Also no ~sexy times but it's also ~coming. Other thieves will be showing up too! I got lotsa plans, but for now we get a short intro.
> 
> Went on a self-imposed 4 year hiatus from writing so this'll be journey. Pls bear with me in that regard and also in formatting bc idk wtf I'm doing there.

Yusuke sighs, leans forward, and presses pause on the old DVD player. 

“Akira, you are not even watching,” he huffs, turning to his dark-haired friend. Akira, who had been and quite frankly still is lost in thought, mumbles a noise.

“Akira, I am requesting your attention?” he leans forward into Akira’s blank stare, which pulls him out of his mind. He jumps, rubs his eyes with his fists, and gives Yusuke a guilty smile.

 “Sorry, ‘ke,” he says, then motions back to the dim colors on the TV, “You can press play, I promise I’ll pay attention now. What’s this guy’s name again? Rob Boss?”

 “No,” Yusuke denies, now turning the TV totally off, “The entire DVD is an experience of art and tranquility--it must be done in one sitting. Besides, I would like to know what could possibly take your attention away from such an experience.” Yusuke looks at Akira expectantly, who begins to blush under Yusuke’s gaze. He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles, embarrassed. Yusuke lets out a single laugh and leans forward.

“Do not tell me, it is our blonde friend again?”

 

Akira sighs, unsure how to proceed. He and Yusuke had been doing...whatever it was they were doing, for too a short a time to be wholly navigable. Nearly every day during the early summer Yusuke had texted Akira, either asking him to meet him somewhere or flat out telling him he was coming over. At first Akira had been caught off guard by the frequency of his visits, but a week ago Yusuke told Akira to freeze while he was making a cup of coffee. Akira did, coffee still pouring from the pot, while Yusuke looked him over. Akira felt uncomfortable and yet calm under his discerning eye. Yusuke had hummed to himself, muttered a “yes, this will do,” then leaned forward and kissed Akira without a second thought. Akira remained frozen afterward, cheeks reddening, coffee beginning to pour over the rim of the cup. Then he had smiled and the two had wonderful conversation into the late night. Since then Yusuke and Akira had stolen kisses in the attic or dark alleys, fingertips across hands, shoulders, arms, the tops of thighs, and the meeting of eyes across the room when the group was together. They hadn’t called it anything--hadn’t even called themselves anything before or after their affectionate moments--but it was nice. Akira wasn’t discriminating when it came to love: a pretty boy with a kind heart was simply a pretty person, indeed.

Which is why he had been having such trouble lately. He liked to think of himself as a book that let you read it, not the other way around, but Yusuke had gotten too good at reading Akira’s expressions. For someone who didn’t understand a lot of social cues, Yusuke had a knack for getting to the bottom of something, or someone, quickly and easily. If a pretty boy with a kind heart was all it took for Akira, then Ryuji was as much trouble for him as Yusuke was. Akira had grown fond of Ryuji immediately, and their history--brief though it was--was a foundation of fierceness and loyalty. If Yusuke was the calm, serene morning, Ryuji was the typhoon in the afternoon, running you over and sweeping you away. Akira had no doubt that Ryuji would go to the ends of the earth if Akira needed him to--hell, even if he didn’t. He had begun to occupy more and more of Akira’s thoughts these days, especially as they grew closer, and Yusuke had noticed.

Granted, he didn’t seem to mind. When Akira first sheepishly mentioned he had been thinking about Ryuji--”Just as a friend, though, I promise!”--Yusuke had looked thoughtful for a moment, then with kindness in his eyes said it would be fine if it was more. “I understand that affection and attraction are limited in a single capacity, and much more fulfilling when multifaceted,” he mused, and Akira took that to mean Yusuke appreciated a wandering eye. Again, Akira wasn’t discriminating when it came to love: one is good, but two is better, right?

“Er...yes,” Akira admitted. While he was thankful Yusuke didn’t mind that Ryuji occupied so much of Akira’s thoughts, it still felt strange to talk so openly about it with someone he was equally infatuated with. He wasn’t new to the boy thing, but the multiple-boy thing gave him pause. “He just...I dunno, Yusuke. The things he says, he’s _got_ to be into me.”

“How so?” he inquires. He looks studious right now, eyebrows crinkled in the middle of his forehead, thumb absentmindedly running along the lines of his jaw. This movement for a moment transfixes Akira, fingers itching to follow their path.

Akira sighs again. “The other day he told me, I swear to god, that he only feels _free_ around me. Is there another way to interpret that that I’m not getting? And, weeks ago, before you were here, he told me I was cute. If it were anyone else I’d just go for it, but…”

“Hm, it would indeed appear he has affection for you as I do,” Yusuke says, now thinking hard. Akira smiles at the easy confession from Yusuke. “And how does he respond when you show your interest?”

“Well, that’s part of the problem. I don’t really. I mean, I want to, but for as unashamedly expressive the guy is, he sends a ton of mixed messages. One second he’s telling me I’m the only one in his corner, the next he’s elbowing me and mumbling how good Ann looks in her summer uniform.” Akira groans and puts his head in his hands. “Why can’t it be easy like it is with you?” he says, muffled.

 

It’s Yusuke’s turn to blush, the color more prominent on his slightly paler face. He finds Akira’s frustration endearing. Akira has a point, though. While Yusuke doesn’t tend to spend a ton of time with Ryuji, he has noticed how attached he seems to be to Akira. Yusuke had written their relationship off as two best friends, but hearing how he is when he’s alone with Akira makes Yusuke second-guess his assessment. He thinks back to their last trek into the palace when Akira went to open a chest and Ryuji had leaned over Akira, enveloping his body like he wanted—needed—to protect it. Yusuke had actually gone home and sketched it quickly if only for the closeness and intimacy evident in their body language. He remembers feeling surprised he wasn’t jealous--he hadn’t made his feelings for Akira known yet, but he couldn’t deny them either--and wondered if all his romantic endeavors while under Madarame’s care had made him actually prefer an open relationship. Then, later, when Akira tentatively admitted Ryuji had been on his mind, Yusuke hadn’t flinched at all. Maybe this was what he was missing in his perception of desire, those early years of art apprenticeship, exploration, and his peers nearly forgotten.

“Perhaps he needs a push,” Yusuke offered. If Ryuji needed a little help, Akira needed Ryuji, and Yusuke needed something new for his art, this was the perfect idea. Akira peered at him from between his fingers, making Yusuke’s stomach flip. Akira looked magnificent in any pose, he decided.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Yusuke begins, “I have grown up in the arts, correct? I have been viewing the naked body my whole life, and as such my peers and I found that love and desire take no singular form. Madarame had encouraged us to pursue all avenues of desire for the sake of our art, which I do give credit to him for despite everything. As such I am well-versed in being a lover of all kinds,” he says frankly.

This tidbit of information is not necessarily surprising to Akira, though it is a bit intimidating. After his sentencing, Akira had an angry and rebellious couple weeks where he engaged in pretty much whatever, or whomever, crossed his path. He was leaving soon, his life ruined; what did it matter? It gave him some experience under his belt ( _literally_ , he thinks with a chuckle), but he assumed nowhere near what Yusuke knew. Plus, the memories were hazy, shadowed by the overwhelming feeling he had lost control over everything in his life. He didn’t mind that he couldn’t remember them entirely.

“While I do not know the full story of your upbringing--though I expect to be told someday soon--I understand that you are well-composed. You do not let anything...what is the phrase? Shake your tail feathers?”

Akira laughs aloud. “I think it’s ‘ruffle your feathers.’ What you’re referring to is...something else entirely. I’ll show you if we ever find our way to a nightclub one day,” he leans and nudges Yusuke on the shoulder.

Yusuke nods once, not a hint of playfulness on his face, which makes Akira smile even more. He continues: “Right, well, you are good at adapting to situations. It seems that when I kissed you, you were unprepared, but you did not reject me. Instead you accepted the situation and your feelings towards it. Consider that Ryuji has not had the same environment. If I am not mistaken, his own father walked out of his life, and his mother must work long hours to support her family. Ryuji has not had similar guidance as I, and is far more stubborn than you. Perhaps he does not know what to do with what he is feeling inwardly, yes?”

“Hm,” Akira thinks it over, running his hands through his hair. It’s definitely possible. As emotionally available as Ryuji is, Yusuke is right: he’s stubborn as hell. If he felt anything for Akira--or any other boy, for that matter--he’d be in denial about it. _Maybe he’s been trying to say it this whole time without_ really _saying it,_ Akira wonders. If that was the case, then what could they do about it? Akira highly doubts that Yusuke’s move of a sudden kiss over coffee would go over well with Ryuji.

“I can’t, like, you know…” Akira gestures between him and Yusuke, “Kiss ‘im like you did me, and I don’t want to force him into something he’s not ready for.”

 “No, of course not,” Yusuke says, aghast at the suggestion, “I merely meant that we could...as you might say, ‘mess’ with him until he can face his own heart.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

Yusuke’s face suddenly turns playful, thoughtful, and flirtatious all at the same time. Akira’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on. He was more than ready to let someone else take the lead, in more ways than one. As Yusuke went over his plan, Akira grew just as excited as he did nervous. Yusuke was good—no, devious, in fact. His earlier comment about being well-versed runs through Akira’s head again, in his smooth, milky voice, and Akira thinks that after they settle on a plan for Ryuji, he’ll find out just how good Yusuke’s technique is.


	2. Typhoon and Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji's got a hunch and Ann's got a heart of gold for dealing with his in-denial ass. (FYI a little bit of internalized homophobia going on)

Ryuji may not be a book smart kinda person, but he knows he’s not an idiot, alright? He’s been catchin’ the glances between Akira and Yusuke for a week now, and each time it stirs somethin’ in him he doesn’t recognize. It’s clear that there’s something  _ happenin’  _ there, but whenever he tries to talk to Ann about it, she waves it off.

“Dude, you  _ had  _ to’ve seen the way Akira looked at Yusuke the last time he got knocked down,” he says to her one afternoon over tea. He’d never admit that that’s what’s in his cup, but he likes things sweet and Akira told him it makes him feel more charming once, so why the hell not? He needs charm these days. Ryuji takes too much of a sip and the liquid burns all the way down, giving Ann a chance to laugh at him as he sputters.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says after they’ve both settled. Ryuji rolls his eyes.

“Alright, he had his like,  _ ass _ in the air, and at first I thought Akira was bein’ all leaderly and carin’ for him, but then it seemed like he was just checkin’ him out,” Ryuji raises his eyebrows, “And that’s not the only thing I’ve seen either!”

“Well, what’s your point, then?” Ann asks.

“I, uh,” Ryuji stops for a second. What  _ is  _ his point? “Uh, isn’t it, I dunno, weird or somethin’?”

“It’s not  _ weird, _ ” Ann insists, “Especially if you consider how Yusuke made it pret-ty clear he wasn’t interested in me as someone of the opposite sex. That’s not to say he’s not interested in  _ any  _ woman, just...you know. Not me. Someone prettier, probably. Like Akira.”

Ryuji thinks, ignoring her comment about Akira, then responds: “Yeah, okay, that’s pretty fair. Bein’ an artist type and all that, I bet he’s experimented or whatever,” the thought makes his ears grow warm, though he doesn’t know why, “But that doesn’t explain Akira! I didn’t think he, uh,  _ batted for the other team, _ ” Ryuji says in a hushed tone. It’s Ann’s turn to roll her eyes. What are they, twelve?

“Don’t think he necessarily does,” she takes a sip of her tea, “He’s an easy-going guy. I’m sure he just goes with the flow, no matter what that flow looks like.”

Conversations like this have been happening more and more between the two friends. He doesn’t know why, but every time he’s with Ann, he just wants to talk about Akira. It doesn’t make a ton of sense, if Ryuji’s honest. Ann is hot, single, and they were growing ever closer. So why was Akira always on his mind? Must be somethin’ to do with him being the Phantom Thieves leader and all; plus he was like, Ryuji’s best friend. It’s only natural to talk about your best dude with your best girl, right?

“Why do you ask, though?” Ann asks, seemingly reading Ryuji’s thoughts. She smiles evilly. “Jealous?”

“What?!” Ryuji shouts,  _ way  _ too loud for the diner. Ann shushes him, then smiles apologetically to the other patrons. Ryuji huffs, annoyed that everyone’s always shushin’ him.

“Why the hell would I be jealous, dude?!” he whisper shouts, leaning over the table to get into Ann’s face. She looks at him smugly.

“Here you are, going on about how Akira was looking at Yusuke’s butt, when just yesterday I caught you mesmerized by his hands when he was playing around with his,” and here her eyebrows wiggle, “ _ dagger _ in Mementos.”

Ryuji feels heat creeping up his neck into his face. Shit, th-that’s not what he was doin’! He liked the dagger, ‘s all. Good knife. Cool design.  _ So why is your stomach flipping? _ an unknown, unwanted voice asks in the back of his head. He groans in frustration.

“I was not!” he hisses, sitting back in his seat. “Geez, Ann, I’m not frickin’  _ gay _ or whatever,” he mumbles, crossing his arms across his chest and slouching. He knows he looks like a pouting kid, but whatever. Ann can think what she wants. He’s just plain  _ not, _ okay?! Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with bein’ gay. Ryuji didn’t care about  _ that _ so much as the fact that  _ he _ wasn’t gay.

“What about bi?” Ann suggests.

“Bye? What, are you leaving?”

Ann giggles, “No, dork. Bi. As in bisexual.”

“No! I’m not that either!” Ryuji argues, then pauses, “Er…what’s that again?”

Ann pinches the bridge of her nose, patience wearing thin. “Geez, Ryuji. Bisexual means you’re into girls  _ and  _ boys. It wouldn’t matter if you were, it’s not like any of us would care. You know that right?”

“Obviously,” Ryuji says, though inside he feels suddenly nervous and sick to his stomach, like he’s not entirely sure he believes what he’s saying. He fiddles with cup, speaking to it instead of Ann, “But that’s not me either.”

“If you say so, Cassanova,” Ann shrugs. If he wasn’t gonna admit it to himself, he certainly wasn’t going to admit it to her. “If you’re curious, though, I’ve definitely seen Akira keeping his eyes on you, too,” she says nonchalantly with a wave of her hand, like it’s not making Ryuji’s heart beat out of his chest.  _ Get a grip, dude!! _

His face feels increasingly hotter as he avoids Ann’s eyes. “Don’t care,” he says, but even he has trouble believing it. Yikes. Thankfully, Ann chooses to leave it at that, turning the conversation to the Phantom Thieves business. She has an idea for a battle sequence, and wants to run it by him…

**

An hour later, Ryuji is home alone and bored. He had planned on coming home and reading a bit of his new manga, but when he tried readin’ it, none of the words sank in. S’like he knew what they were saying, but if you asked him what just happened he’d have no idea. So he put the book down and has since been staring at the wall, debating calling Akira.

He’s not sure why he hesitates. I mean, Akira’s just a bro, right? His right hand man. There were no  _ feelin’s  _ there, just the strongest friendship he’s ever been in. And the most loyal. And the most fun. And his absolute favorite. But that was like, normal, yeah?

He sighs. He has nothing against the idea of likin’ boys, but he’s pretty sure--he catches himself, no, definitely sure--that’s not his thing. It’s not like all the times he’s gotten turned on by a girl were fake! You can’t fake that sorta thing. Ugh. Ann’s voice trickles back into his brain about being bi. He wishes he could just talk to Akira about it, but he’s the goddamn problem. Maybe he can approach it from another angle? Like he has a friend who doesn’t know how he feels about another friend?

Ryuji sighs again. Might be too obvious. He’s never had trouble with speaking his mind before. A teacher once told him that he lacked “tact,” which he later learned was somethin’ like common courtesy. He can’t help it, though. He doesn’t have time to play mind games. If he felt something, he was gonna say it. You knew when he was angry with you because he told ya. That’s part of what annoyed him about girls. Seemed like they were always talkin’ in code.

So what was his problem now? Deep down he knows his hesitance has to be because it’s true, that Ann’s right, he  _ is  _ a bit jealous that Akira seems to have somethin’ going on with Yusuke. He shakes his head again.

Maybe he just needs to spend more time around Akira to figure out what he’s feelin’. Could be nothing--nah, probly  _ was _ nothin’.  _ Nothing like spending time with someone to take your mind off that exact person _ , that voice in his head says sarcastically. He presses the number before he can think about it too much, and within a few rings Akira’s voice melts out of the phone like chocolate.

“Ryuji!” he sounds excited, “I was just thinking about you.”

Ryuji doesn’t fight the smile or the burn of the blush. “What, man, like you got a crush on me?” he jokes, the words out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Obviously,” Akira says, and Ryuji can’t tell if his tone is sarcastic or playful, “So come over. Got a new game I think you’d like,” he says. Man, they’re totally on the same wavelength like, all the time. It’s so nice to have someone like that.

“Morgana gonna be there?” Ryuji asks after a moment.

“Mmm, I don’t think so. He’s been in Sojiro’s house all week, trying to find a way into Futaba’s room. Sojiro says it’s annoying, but I think he secretly likes it.”

Ryuji doesn’t know why, but he’s glad. He chalks it up to Morgana’s incessant chatter bein’ annoying. They agree on a time and Ryuji heads out the door.

When Ryuji arrives, he can’t help the way his heart beats wildly, like just about anything could happen. And if he knew what Akira and Yusuke had planned, he’d know that just about everything will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's artwork this fic is based on!!!: http://swaname.tumblr.com/post/160915920495/the-most-unrealistic-part-of-persona-5-is-atlus
> 
> Forgot how different prose was to poetry--yiiiikes @ self. Probably been about 6 years since I wrote anything chapter-oriented? So if you have any suggestions, questions, or comments pls let me know! I got a story bout these boys and I'm gonna tell it but it's gonna be a journey and a half lol These are shorter chapters to begin with but I'm getting longer as I go, not sure if good or bad thing
> 
> i am goodestboyryuji on tumblr if you want to interact or watch me reblog nearly everything p5 related 0:) but especially my boys 0:)


	3. The Coming Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira searches for Ryuji's boundaries and discovers this'll be more fun than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part one of a chapter that will technically be its own chapter but they both happen in the same night so I'm thinking of them like Part 1 and Part 2. I promise you I will get to the point of this fic I just have a guilty pleasure of making those gay thoughts gain on m'boy (he fast but he not that fast).

“Ha!” Ryuji shouts, throwing the controller down in victory, “Gotcha again!”

“Alright, alright,” Akira raises his hands in mock surrender, “You are the…what was it again?”

Ryuji smirks, crossing his arm across his chest, “Most greatest player, king of the metaverse, and altogether best there ever was.” Ryuji’s beaming, practically glowing, and it’s all Akira can do to resist tackling him in laughs and cuddles and kisses. _He’s so lame sometimes,_ Akira thinks fondly, _but perfectly so._ Just the right amount of childlike happiness and optimism.

Akira smiles and rolls his eyes, and Ryuji feels the warmth of it come over him, “Yeah, that.”

“Round eight?”

Akira chuckles. “My fragile ego can’t take it. Let’s just chill for a bit.”

“Uh, alright, man…” Ryuji says, hopping over to the futon and spreading himself out. Akira _loved_ when he did this; something about the way he seemed to unfold and reveal miles of his body, draping over everything. Ryuji’s posture was poor, that much was obvious, a leftover combination from his injury and his previous desire to make himself smaller to avoid ridicule, so most of the time Akira didn’t get to see just how expansive he was. He was seated sideways, one arm propped along the back of the futon, nearly reaching the other end. Ryuji was wearing his sweatshirt, unfortunately making it harder to see the muscles that Akira knew were there. Yusuke had a lot of power in battles from the way he knew to move his body, using his knowledge of anatomy for momentum, but Ryuji was the literal _muscle_. He’d been training with Ryuji long enough to know that there was definition there; hell, Ryuji had even complained that his clothes weren’t fitting as well (Akira told him he thought the clothes looked better tighter just to see Ryuji hem and haw then suddenly change the subject).

Akira watches as Ryuji carefully lifts and places his bad leg on the futon, stretching it out in front of him with a small sigh. It was easy to forget how much that leg could bother Ryuji since he refused to complain about it. Once Ann had noticed him limping behind and yelled at him for not saying something sooner, but Ryuji had waved it off, saying it wasn’t important enough to stop their trek. He did things like that often: putting everyone and everything before himself. Akira knew it was genuine for Ryuji; not some lame grasp at being humble, but a true intention of caring for everyone else first. He got a lot of shit for being hot-headed, loud, and occasionally obnoxious, but Akira saw Ryuji for who he really was: careful, kind, and fiercely protective—nearly to a fault. It erupted in Akira a protectiveness of his own, one where he’d support and defend Ryuji over anything.

Akira drinks these movements in: Ryuji settling himself on his furniture, spreading out and coloring everything in Akira’s room with bright shades. Legs, each five miles long, one on the futon and the other tucking behind Akira’s chair leg for support. The rise of his chest as he breathes deeply, his hands ruffling through his own hair, he way he turns to Akira with an “up for anything” smile. The plan he and Yusuke discussed just two days ago drifts through Akira’s mind. If it goes well and Akira could find his home in _both_ Yusuke and Ryuji, he’d die a happy man.

“What’re you lookin’ at me like that for?” Ryuji asks, eyebrows furrowing on his forehead. Akira shrugs. Ryuji waits, cheeks becoming a bright pink, but Akira offers nothing except a growing smirk. Damn bastard. Ryuji knows this is a good time, hell, probably the best time to bring somethin’ up to Akira. They’re only totally alone every so often, and while the one-on-one bro time is something Ryuji holds special, it’s the only chance Ryuji has to talk about other members of the team when they’re not there. He and Akira once spent an hour thinking of all the jobs Ann’s parents could do, getting increasingly ridiculous until they were bent over, tears in their eyes from laughing. They hadn’t bothered to ask her later, knowing it wouldn’t ever live up to their expectations (Akira’s personal favorite was black market cat seller). Another time, when Morgana was away like he was now, Ryuji asked Akira what he thought the truth was about ‘im. Ryuji felt like Akira gave him honest answers, suspecting Morgana wasn’t human like he hoped, but unsure what other option there was; Ryuji liked believing Akira trusted him more than anyone else, bein’ his first friend and all.

He knows he’s gotta go for it, doesn’t really understand why he hasn’t yet. Woulda been fine askin’ Makoto the same thing. What was it about Akira? He wasn’t afraid of the answer…was he?

“Hey,” he starts, too quiet for his liking. He sounded scared. He _wasn’t_ scared. Ryuji starts again, clearing his throat, “Uh, hey, Akira.”

“What’s up?” Akira cocks his head to the side, curiosity evident on his face, and Ryuji can’t help the thought that follows: _he’s cute._ It sits uncomfortably for a moment in his brain before Ryuji just accepts it. Akira _is_ cute. Nothin’ wrong with admitting a dude’s havin’ a cute moment. He can appreciate that.

“I-is, uh, is somethin’ goin’ on with you and Yusuke? I mean, I been seein’ stuff-”

“A common practice known to man,” Akira quips, smiling. He can’t help it.

“Ugh, shut up and let me finish! I see stuff, like I said, right? And like, he’s _always_ lookin’ at you, and I hear some of the shit he says to you like he wants to draw you and stuff, which is cool don’t get me wrong but it could be taken in another way s’all I’m sayin’, plus then there’s _you_ and I swear to god dude, I swear to god I saw you checkin’ him out the other day when he got knocked down, and like it’s _fine_ if you are because I don’t _care_ about stuff like that but I dunno I thought I was your best bro and you never told me so I kinda feel like-“

“Ryuji!” Akira shouts, cutting him off. Ryuji stops, surprised, just realizing that Akira had been saying his name for a while now. He looks up at his friend expectantly, cheeks warming at how long he’d rambled.

Akira rubs his chin thoughtfully. He has to be careful here. He doesn’t want to lie—can’t, in fact, could never lie to Ryuji about anything—but he has to make it clear that it doesn’t…ruin anything for Ryuji. That Akira still wanted him as much as he did Yusuke. The silence stretches, Ryuji growing more uncomfortable by the second.

Each stretch of time confirms what Ryuji suspected just a little more, each second like a little pang in his chest. _It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t bother me,_ he repeats in his head like a damn mantra. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. It wouldn’t. _But what if it does?_

“If you’re asking if we’re attracted to each other, the answer is yes…” Akira begins, trailing off as he thinks of how to phrase it. Ryuji, though, ever impatient, doesn’t give him much of a chance. He needs to pretend--no, _show_ that he doesn’t care.

“S’cool with me, ya know, not like I _care_ , just wanted to know cause we’re a team and it’s good to know these things about your teammates and also I just wanna know cause we’re friends and that’s what friends do, they tell each other these kinda things an-”

“Ryuji, if you don’t wait a second and take a breath, I’m gonna have to call the doctor down the street,” Akira says, his tone scolding but his expression held a hint of playfulness. _Goddammit._ Ryuji’s ramblin’ again. “Can you let me finish, please?”

Ryuji nods, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“As I was saying, sure, we like each other. Let’s be honest, the guy’s pretty.”

As soon as the words hit Ryuji’s ears, he feels somethin’ flare up inside him violently, like a mix between jealousy and defensiveness. He snaps his head away, choosing to stare at the TV instead. His stomach churns, the faint noise of his teeth grinding heard in the room. What the hell was happenin’ to him?!

“But that’s not to say we’re exclusive, either,” Akira starts, still trying to steer the conversation in a direction that makes it clear Ryuji is welcome, no, _encouraged_ to pursue Akira if he so wishes. Akira gets a wild idea. “I mean, when you think about it, we’re _all_ pretty attractive.”

Ryuji notices the shift in tone, doing his best to avoid looking directly into Akira’s eyes, but Akira’s gaze is steady and unyielding. He leans forward and shifts in his seat so that his leg can press against the one Ryuji has tucked around his own chair. Ryuji wants to object, wants to pull his leg away, wants to say something sarcastic or somethin’ that’ll change the subject--anything to get Akira to stop looking at him like this, to stop talkin’ about how he’s attracted to Yusuke or how everyone on the team is attractive. Ryuji _knows_ this, they’ve even talked about how pretty all the girls were on their team, but the look in Akira’s eyes is somethin’ Ryuji’s not sure he’s ready to see. Like he’s sayin’ one thing but meanin’ another.

“It’s a wonder we have any self-control at all,” Akira’s voice drops an octave and the shiver that runs through Ryuji’s body betrays him. He clenches his fist, still refusing to look at Akira. He stars intently at the TV’s blank screen.

“Pfft, speak for yourself,” Ryuji tries, his voice weak, “I hit on Ann almost daily. 

“That the only person you’re hitting on?” Akira asks coyly. He’s so close to Ryuji now that if he moved forward any further, he’d be in his lap. The thought makes Akira clench his jaw, a barrage of impure thoughts running through his head-- _didn’t you just say something about self-control?_

Ryuji takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before he looks at Akira. The look in his eyes is something wicked. Ryuji knows electricity, knows how energy in the air can turn static and volatile, thanks to his persona. He’d be lyin’ if he said he didn’t feel that energy now, fingertips practically itchin’ and sparkin’ at the tips.

_Fortune favors the bold_ , his mother’s voice rings in his head, from a conversation he doesn’t even remember now.

“Yusuke the only one _you’re_ hittin’ on?” Ryuji fires back, looking Akira dead in the eye. The words land right where Ryuji wants them to; Akira looks stunned, but the smile playing at the corners of his mouth says he’s impressed. Ryuji’s inner self throws a fist in the air. _Victory!_

And it’s true: Akira _is_ impressed. It’s a brave move on Ryuji’s part, a definite departure from his casual and unashamed “confessions” of how he feels around Akira. The tone in his voice sets Akira back; it was full of venom, but not poisonous. Something about it was dark and biting in all the best ways. Akira can imagine it now; Ryuji, in control, pulling at Akira’s hair, putting him into positions, short fingernails raking his skin...

Akira realizes he doesn’t have much of a retort, lost in his own fantasy. The words bounce around in his head, Ryuji’s eyes intense on him, practically daring him to reply. Akira’s the first to break eye contact, sitting back in his seat and rubbing the back of his neck. Something like surprise flashes across Ryuji’s face; Ryuji realizing that not only did he catch Akira off guard, but could that be a blush? Ryuji! Flustered the king of composure! It’s an extra jewel in Ryuji’s victory crown.

“Anyway,” Akira says, choosing to ignore Ryuji’s question entirely, “Long n’ short of it is that I like Yusuke, but we’re open to liking other people too.”

“Like, you’re cool with Yusuke likin’ someone that ain’t you? Doesn’t bother you?”

 “No, not really,” Akira answers, “Yusuke is, well, Yusuke,” he says with a chuckle. Ryuji nods, understanding. “He’s not one to restrict himself; for all his quiet contemplation, he’s actually pretty uninhibited. I’d never want to chain that up...metaphorically speaking.”

Ryuji gives Akira a look but Akira smiles innocently. The next question comes less easily. “...’n you? Yusuke don’t mind if you got someone else?”

Akira wants to say something that will get Ryuji squirming and blushing again, but right now is the first time Ryuji doesn’t seem to be blushing furiously. He figures the boy earned a break.

“He’s recently encouraged it.”

Ryuji pretends he’s not pleased by this information. “That’s, uh, cool of him I guess. So...hm. You, you like dudes then? 

Ryuji’s still in the same relaxed position, but everything about him seems tense suddenly. There’s tension in his arms, his foot is tapping incessantly against the leg of Akira’s chair, and he keeps rolling head from side to side. It’s a nervous tension, Akira thinks, like energy is building inside Ryuji with no outlet. He knows this conversation isn’t difficult for Ryuji--someone’s sexuality, while not something they’ve openly discussed together before, has never mattered to Ryuji--but there seems to be some sort of block for him...something that’s preventing him from being his usual open self. While not super happy at the seeming distress coming from his friend, the only reason Ryuji could be this tense is if they were, in a way, discussing _his_ sexuality. That thought comforts Akira in an odd way.

“I like anyone,” Akira says, “As long as they’re kind and stand up for people who can’t help themselves.”

Ryuji snorts, “You just described the entire team, then.” He wonders what made Yusuke so special. _Why not me?_ \--then, right after-- _Why do I want it to be me?_

Almost as if reading his mind, Akira says, “True, but Yusuke was the only one to really pursue me. Kind of shocking, really, when you consider how great I am. Figured everyone would be half in love with me at this point.” His words drip with faux-pride, hoping that the joke puts Ryuji at ease.

Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to. Instead Ryuji looks irritated--and Akira’s right, he is. It’s not that Ryuji was or even wasn’t _pursuing_ Akira before, but if he was, then Ryuji was there first, y’know?! If Akira was gonna have a crush on anyone, shouldn’t it have been him? 

But...it’s not like it matters, obviously. Ryuji woulda had to turn him down anyway. He’s not interested in the guy. He forces himself to stay calm. 

“You, uh, you ever been with a dude before?”

“Of course.” 

The answer comes too fast for Ryuji, too much like it didn’t matter, like they were talkin’ about whether or not Akira had seen a certain movie. The way Akira was bein’ all casual, Yusuke couldn’t be his first dude, but it was bad enough when Ryuji only had Yusuke to think about. The quickness of the answers confirms a history to Akira, a “before the Phantom Thieves” timeline full of mystery, intrigue, and a quiet sadness that Ryuji didn’t know him then, doesn’t know what he was like. Now a barrage of images were flashing through his mind: Akira with other guys, holding hands, laughing, spending time, playing video games, a brief picture of someone taking Akira’s shirt off...again the jealousy flares inside his chest. It’s not that he wants to be the only one Akira was close with, he’s glad Akira’s found Yusuke, but how could Ryuji hold a candle to anyone Akira’s ever been with? If he even wanted a chance with him, how could he have one?

He asks a question he’s not sure he wants the answer to: “What’s it like?”

“ _Incredible.”_

Ok, yep, nope. Definitely didn’t want the answer to that. He figured he’d get somethin’ about Yusuke, some detail about a past dude, not, not, not whatever the hell _that_ was. The voice, the pressure of Akira’s leg against his own. Ryuji short circuits.

  
“Spare me the dirty details dude!” Ryuji shouts, using his good leg to stand up quickly. Akira looks up at him, surprised and--what is that look? Hurt? A dull pain throbs in the bad leg as he swings it down to the floor with a thud, but it’s worth it if Akira will just effin’ _stop._ “I don’t wanna know, I definitely _don’t_ wanna know, so let’s just-let’s just play the game again, okay? Let’s just do that.”

Akira knows a boundary when he sees one. He figured he was pushing it, especially when he started pressing his leg against Ryuji’s, but he had to see. He had to see how far he could go in this setting. If Yusuke’s plan was going to work--and more and more, Akira thought it might--he had to figure out the balance between teasing Ryuji into accepting himself and forcing him into it, disrespecting his personal autonomy. Now he knew. He could spar with Ryuji one-on-one, could try to charm him to hell and back, could make all the insinuations he wanted. Ryuji squirmed but he didn’t run--almost like he was waiting for something to get him to the point where he couldn’t hold back anymore. 

Talking about Yusuke was harder; each time Akira did, Ryuji’s eyes narrowed slightly. Jealousy? Akira couldn’t be sure.

Talking about anyone else, anything from his past, was definitely too far. That, to his credit, Akira didn’t mind avoiding. He was open, honest, but he much preferred his present to his past. Again, he wondered if it was jealousy, or perhaps just too much at once? Ryuji never made Akira feel like he couldn’t be himself, but clearly Ryuji put restraints on his own self. Akira’s heart sank. His poor friend. 

Akira had all the faith in the world in his blonde friend; he’d get there, Akira knew he would. After all, the problem wasn’t with the idea of liking boys, or even with liking more than one, it seemed. The problem was Ryuji’s inability to see that in himself. He could be the mirror. He and Yusuke could do that together. 

He picks up the controller without another word about boys or feelings. For now, Akira is just happy to hear Ryuji’s laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder to check out the artwork that inspired this fic! Swaname.tumblr.com and their art is a personal gift.


	4. Morning Hues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira, feeling bold after his evening with Ryuji, calls Yusuke over for an art lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A separate chapter but also a Part 2 to the previous chapter! Same evening, just a bit after Ryuji's gone home. Also I never know what to do with Morgana??? So I sent him back to Sojiro's house until I can figure out where to put him lol
> 
> WARNING: sexy times ahead. Do not read if u are not into the impure. Also, generally speaking, from here on out no chapter is safe. Anything ~explicit~ may occur. If you'd like, I can try to signal this in some way in the fic; just let me know!

Late into the evening after Ryuji’s gone home, Akira pulls out his phone.

 **[Akira]:** Hey, you up?

 **[Yusuke]:** Naturally. Are you alright?

 **[Akira]:** Great, actually. Hung out with Ryuji tonight.

 **[Yusuke]:** Oh? Is it time for our plan to officially begin?

 **[Akira]:** Almost, but that’s not why I texted you. Can you come over?

 **[Yusuke]:** At this hour?

 **[Akira]:** See, that’s what you say, but we both know you’re already on your way.

A minute goes by, and then:

 **[Yusuke]:**...I am at the train station, yes.

 **[Yusuke]:** I will see you soon.

Akira smiles and closes his phone. There’s a rustle outside his window. Yusuke already?

“Help me up, Akira!” he hears. _Great, Morgana,_ just when he needed him to not be around. Akira groans then rolls over on his bed to peer out the window. Morgana’s perched on the ledge of the wall below his window, tail flicking like he’s irritated. “I’m tired and it’s time for bed!” he shouts.

“Make me, cat!” Akira shouts back, half-kidding, half-serious.

Morgana growls, but the noise is hardly threatening from a cat. “C’mon! I’ve been gone for like, two whole days! I’m tired of sleeping outside Futaba’s door trying to get her to open it.”

“One more night!”

“...What?!”

“One more, then you can come back!”

“I don’t remember letting you be the boss of me!”

“Oh, but I definitely asked you to tell me when my bedtime was every night, right?!”

His tail flicks wildly with irritation now. “J-just help me in, okay?!”

Morgana makes a pitiful jump to get into the window and doesn’t even come close.

“One more night, Morgana. I have...plans...this evening.”

“Plans? What ‘plans’ could you possibly ha-” suddenly Morgana’s face turns up like he smelled some bad tuna. “Ugh, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. Tell Yusuke I said hi,” he says, turning and walking away without a word. Akira smiles, pleased with himself, and stops leaning out the window.

“You owe me sushi, though!” he hears, distant and faded through the pane.

Twenty minutes later, Yusuke’s boots could be heard against the wood floor. Akira sits up quickly, surprised Yusuke’s already inside. When Yusuke makes it up the stairs and sees Akira’s quizzical look, he chuckles.

“Do you really think a Phantom Thief cannot figure out the lock to a local coffee shop?” he says, oozing nonchalance and confidence. Akira smiles, surprised to see him in his school uniform. It was summer, so naturally there was no need for it, but Akira doesn’t complain. Any clothes Yusuke wore were nice on him, but the uniform was something he liked in particular. He wasn’t sure if it was because it was the first thing he had seen Yusuke in, or if the shirt with its high neckline and buttons made Yusuke’s neck look more elegant and delicious than normal (it was probably both).

“Plus I have these keys,” he says suddenly, gesturing to the ring of keys on his belt loop. There’s a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, like he has an inkling that he’s being funny, but he’s far too composed to make mention of it. It makes Akira laugh, thinking they’re starting to rub off on each other. _Speaking of…_

“So, why did you request my presence this evening? Especially this late?” Yusuke asks, “I had just made myself some noodles so I will be very disappointed if this isn’t important.”

Akira grins at his friend. “Oh, it’s important,” he reaches under his bed, searching for the box he knows he put under there earlier that day.

Finally he finds it and pulls it out, looking happily down at his hands. “I saw this at the shop down the street and I couldn’t help myself from buying it. I figured maybe we could play around with it?” he says.

Yusuke steps forward and leans down, reading the lid. FINGERPAINTS: THE BEGINNER’S KIT, it says, along with a description about what colors were in the box and suggestions for what to fingerpaint. Yusuke looks up at Akira without moving his head at all.

“...Fingerpaints,” he deadpans. Akira smiles gleefully at him, fully aware of how Yusuke’s reacting to it, not really caring in the least. “You called me here, away from my noodles, for...fingerpaints.”

“Seemed like a good idea.”

Yusuke stands with a sigh and crosses one arm across his chest, the other creating a fist to rest his chin on. He looks expectant and impatient, a look Akira believes he wears well. “And where do you suppose we do this _fingerpainting_? I do not see any canvases around.”

“I do,” Akira says with a smirk, looking Yusuke dead in the eyes. Yusuke stares back, bored and blinking slowly, waiting for Akira to elaborate. But he doesn’t. He just stares, smirking, until finally it dawns on Yusuke.

“Oh!” he drops his arms and looks down at himself, at the school uniform he had hurriedly thrown on when he got Akira’s first text. “You mean to use our bodies…”

“Mmhmm,” Akira says, smile on his face,” What do you think?”

It’s a boldness Yusuke wasn’t prepared for. Akira and Yusuke had had their fair share of kisses and light touches, but nothing thus far went beyond that. He was content with their situation, happy to just kiss Akira whenever he pleased, but he figured it would be some time before they went anywhere further. Now, with Akira sitting on his bed, legs crossed, kit in his lap and the eager, innocent smile on his face, Yusuke is equal parts impressed and confused by it. Akira had been...what was the word? Distracted. Akira was distracted, presuming by Ryuji, which meant Yusuke had to be the more direct of the two, reaching out to Akira first. What brought this side out?

His eyes narrow. “Is this because of Ryuji?”

“What?” Akira asks, surprised, “What do you mean?”

“Are you feeling…” Yusuke thinks, searching for a word again, “...clogged?”

Akira snorts, “ _Clogged_?”

“Er, perhaps that is the wrong word. I was trying to convey that you may feel pent-up due to your recent interactions with Ryuji. I assume nothing of import occurred.”

Akira shakes his head with a smile, “No, nothing of ‘import’ occurred, but I didn’t buy _paint_ because of Ryuji. I bought paint because I heard you mention at one point in time you’re a, you know, _artist?”_

Yusuke’s eyes remain narrow. “Your attitude is not appreciated,” he says, but they both know he’s not actually upset, “I merely mean that you called over someone you could be successful with when you were unsuccessful with someone else.”

The words make Akira’s face fall. “Oh, Yusuke,” he says, his tone losing it’s cockiness and instead adopting tenderness and care, “You’re not a plan B or anything. Ryuji is going to take time; you and I both know that. It’s a bit maddening, sure, but once we get started I imagine it’ll be fun. For now, I called you over because I wanted to see _you._ ”

Yusuke considers him carefully, but eventually sighs and nods once, accepting the answer. He was not concerned with Akira getting frustrated and losing patience with how long it’s taking to get Ryuji to say how he feels, but he wasn’t particularly fond of being the stand-in if one person was unavailable. Love and intimacy is better in numbers, but replacing one person for another soils the endeavor.

Akira smiles again, his charming aura taking over. “ _And_ because I bought fingerpaint. And I didn’t buy fingerpaint so I could fingerpaint. I bought fingerpaint so I could get you out of that uniform.”

Yusuke’s face flushes slightly, a much lighter color than Akira had ever seen on Ryuji’s deeply-blushing cheeks, but color nonetheless. Everyone always commented on Akira’s composure, but Akira thought of anyone Yusuke had the most. The artist only ever lost his cool when it came to something he was passionate about, like his art. The rest of the time Yusuke was calm, direct, and careless about the concept of “saving face.” When Akira told Morgana about their first kiss--the only person thus far he had told the actual details of it to--Morgana had been impressed and said he figured Yusuke was too naive or shy to do something like that. Akira disagreed, reminding Morgana of how they’d come to meet Yusuke in the first place, his boldness in the middle of the street with Ann.

  
It was nice to see Yusuke’s cheek grow pink for once.

“If you insist,” Yusuke says, unbuttoning the tops of his collar, “I assume you want my shirt off, yes?" 

Akira pouts, “Well, yes, but we can have a little fun with it first, no?” He stands and walks over to Yusuke, who waits patiently for Akira to reach him. Once in front of him, Yusuke’s eyes seem dark and expectant. Akira recalls this is not Yusuke’s first experience with someone and the thought causes a moment of hesitation for Akira. Akira’s no stranger to this either, but how much had Yusuke actually done? What kind of expectations did he have?

Instead of letting his mind psyche himself out, Akira stretches slightly to reach Yusuke’s lips with his own. He enjoyed Yusuke’s height. Yusuke responds immediately, arms wrapping around Akira’s waist. They kiss softly and dryly at first, lips sticky and warm in the summer heat. Akira’s tongue tentatively licks Yusuke’s bottom lip, and Yusuke opens up for him immediately. Their lips, now slick, slide together while their tongues intertwine. Yusuke hums happily, little noises that send jolts through Akira’s body. Akira breaks away from the kiss, placing small kisses down Yusuke’s jawline as he works at getting the rest of Yusuke’s uniform open. Yusuke sighs contentedly at the feel of Akira’s lips on his skin.

“This _is_ fun,” he sighs, so sincere that Akira has to smile. At the last button, Akira slides his hands up Yusuke’s wide chest to his shoulders, where he pushes the shirt off Yusuke’s body. It lands with a soft thud on the ground. Akira steps back from him and uses his thumbs and forefingers to create a small box through which he appraises Yusuke.

“Hmmm,” he says, tone serious, a strange, unplaceable accent in his voice, “Yes, yes, you will do nicely.”

Yusuke cocks his hip to the side and sighs as his head turns to the other side. His arms cross over his bare chest. “If you think you are being funny, I can assure you that you are not.”

Akira can’t help giggling, “Fine, fine, just come on over to my ‘studio,’ then.” Akira gestures to the bed. Yusuke looks at Akira the entire time it takes him to walk over, which granted isn’t that much time, but the look in his eyes makes Akira feel giggly and full. He sits down hard on the bed, bouncing on the mattress. Yusuke was so _dramatic._

“Lay down,” Akira commands. Yusuke’s expression has the same sense of attitude he’s held since he walked in, but he complies all the same.

“What happened to the fun part?” Yusuke asks, stretching out on the small bed. It’s certainly not big enough for both of them to lay comfortably, but Yusuke won’t complain. He thoroughly enjoyed kissing Akira and their tentative touches; it was better, though, to have this. He had been waiting for this.

“Hush. Let an artist do his work.”

He grabs the paint kit and sets it on ledge by the window before pulling up his shirt off his body. “Can’t get paint on that, you know,” he says, tossing it to the side. Yusuke watches and admires the movement, appreciating the reveal of Akira’s body. Yusuke knew he trained with Ryuji, and sometimes on his own, so the thin muscles he finds here aren’t surprising. The bend of Akira’s arm reveals a swell of his bicep, the twist of his body as he throws his shirt at the sofa shows the taut back muscles, the deep breath he takes when he turns back to look at Yusuke shows the definition of his chest.

“Wonderful,” Yusuke muses. He really would like to draw Akira one day. He is already something like art; all Yusuke would need to do is translate to canvas. Yusuke’s fingers twitch unconsciously, longing for a pencil and paper.

Akira kneels on the bed, crawling up Yusuke’s body. His eyes stay locked with Yusuke’s, whose face begins to flush again as Akira slowly moves towards him. His breathing becomes shallow, the intensity of Akira’s eyes overwhelming in the best possible way.

Akira hovers over Yusuke’s body as he crawls, intentionally not touching him, drinking in the vision of him lying shirtless on his bed. Yusuke was all lines and angles, thin and elegant and graceful. What should’ve been the hard planes of his body, though, Akira knew were soft and fluid like a dancer. Nothing about Yusuke was stiff or unyielding. Once at his face, Akira can’t help but smile. Yusuke’s eyes are swimming with passion and irritation that Akira hasn’t just gotten to the point, already.

He dips he head, ready to kiss Yusuke, but then pushes himself up only to settle directly on Yusuke’s hips, moving the ring of keys out of the way. Yusuke growls at the tease. Akira squirms like he’s trying to get comfortable, trying to be casual and nonchalant, but the feel of Yusuke’s hips and the hardening bulge between them makes Akira let out a soft gasp. His hand quickly reaches out to Yusuke’s wrist, laying by his side, where he squeezes, steeling himself against the pleasure.

Yusuke’s breathing just gets more ragged at the movement. Yusuke was patient, endlessly so, until it came to matters of lust.

“Get. On. With. It,” he grits out, ready for Akira to begin whatever little plan he had in his head, ready for it to go beyond that, ready to be undone by Akira’s fingers, to feel Akira come undone by his own hand.

Akira takes a deep breath, readying himself, then turns to open the kit. He dips two fingers into the light blue color, a color he’s begun to associate with Yusuke, making sure to have plenty of paint balanced on his fingers. He looks back at Yusuke, whose eyes are now closed as he tries to force himself to be patient, and takes another deep breath.

Yusuke hisses when the paint touches his skin. It’s cold, too cold, and his skin rises up in little goosebumps, nipples hardening at the chill. His eyes squeeze shut, but less so at the coldness and more so at the fact that Akira’s fingers are drawing across his skin and the slide of his hand is so _delicate_. It’s smooth and silky and Yusuke no longer feels impatient, no longer perturbed by Akira’s silly game. He feels like he could lay here forever, Akira sitting on his hips, hands moving in random patterns across his skin.

Akira notices the way Yusuke begins to relax and smirks, “Told you you’d enjoy this.” He dips his fingers in again, this time the purple, and begins to trace the lines of Yusuke’s body. He slides along Yusuke’s collarbone, loving the way the color contrasts to Yusuke’s skin, aching to lean down and bite at it. _Edible paint,_ he thinks, _Should’ve thought of that._

When he brings his fingers to Yusuke’s hipbones, he feels Yusuke throb against his leg.

“Ah, you like that, hm?” he says, looking up at Yusuke who now has an arm thrown over his eyes, jaw slack and breath jagged.

“Akira _,”_ he grumbles, “Please tell me you have more planned than just to fingerpaint my body.” The strain in his voice is punctuated by yet another throb Akira feels.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Akira shrugs, voice so casual like he was talking about what he wants for dinner. It drives Yusuke _insane._ “I kinda like just painting, think I’m starting to understand color theory.”

“ _Akira,”_ Yusuke spits, voice dropping an octave that sends shivers through Akira’s body. His hand suddenly grasps Akira’s wrist, stopping him from drawing another line along Yusuke’s hips. Akira looks up, surprised, meeting Yusuke’s dark and wild eyes. “Let me rephrase. You _will_ do something more after this.”

Akira’s whole body suddenly feels hot, fire flaring along every single one of his nerves. He wants a clever retort, to match Yusuke in a battle of dry wit and teasing, but Yusuke’s still growing harder and Akira can feel him and Akira doesn’t lose his cool, not ever, but he feels damn close now with Yusuke’s perfect chest covered in paint and his eyes so full of something delicious and sinful. He swallows dryly and nods, a pathetic reply but the best thing he can muster.

He dips his fingers into some white paint and finds a bare area on Yusuke’s chest. This time, as he draws a line down Yusuke’s body, his tongue follows next to it. Akira smirks against his skin when he hears Yusuke’s breath hitch. Abandoning the paint for a moment, Akira moves across Yusuke’s chest, kissing and licking at the areas that remain untouched. Yusuke squirms beneath him, soft noises of pleasure escaping out his mouth, hands fisting at the sheets. When Akira drags his tongue across Yusuke’s nipple, he lets out a deep groan. Akira tilts his hips forward in response, pressing their mutual hardness together, and both boys moan at the feel.

“I wonder,” Yusuke gasps, “How much longer you intend to torture me with _fingerpaint._ ”

Akira chuckles. _The drama._  In response, he sits up and scoots down onto Yusuke’s thighs, making work of Yusuke’s pants with his free, clean hand. Before he gets the button undone, though, he presses his palm against Yusuke, whose hips buck in reply. He moans from the top of the bed.

“So hard and I’ve barely done anything to you,” Akira whispers. Yusuke’s hips press into Akira’s hand again as he shivers, his own hands now awake and searching for Akira. They land on Akira’s thighs where he squeezes hard.

“Please,” he begs. Akira’s eyes spark with lust and affection for the desperate boy before him, happy to have the upper hand, was sure he’d be the one ruined by Yusuke.

The sound of the zipper is the catalyst for movement. Akira barely has any time to prop himself up on his knees before Yusuke is desperately pulling down on his pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his underwear and pulling those down, too. His cock springs out from the confinement and Akira’s mesmerized by the sight of it: it stands firm in the humid air of summer, curved slightly. It’s impressive on a number of scales, but what catches Akira’s sight is the precum sliding down his length, leaking with lust and arousal all for Akira. His head swims, fully aware of how painfully hard he’s become now, cock throbbing in his own pants. He aches with need almost painful, eyes fluttering shut at the image of Yusuke’s long fingers wrapped around his cock, but seeing Yusuke wild with desperation like this was so damn good in and of itself that he hardly cared about the absence of touch.

Yusuke, now more impatient than ever before, Grabs Akira’s wrist and pulls his hand towards him, wanting--no, _needing_ Akira to touch him. Akira, though, wretches his hand out of Yusuke’s grasp. Yusuke groans with frustration and sits up on his elbows, lifting an eyebrow incredulously.

“Hey now,” Akira says, playful, reaching for the paints again, “This is about _art._ ”

“You,” Yusuke says, head falling back dramatically onto the bed, “Are insufferable.”

Akira smirks and scoops out a decent amount of paint, all different colors, and rubs it between both hands until they slide together quickly. The paint is gooey and thick, thicker than it was when he was drawing random patterns on Yusuke’s chest, but it feels nice on his hands all the same. He reaches for Yusuke, but pauses just before he makes contact. A thought occurs to him he hadn’t considered before.

Yusuke sighs, “If you’re wondering if it’ll be toxic or painful, the answer is no, assuming it is the kind of paint I believe it to be.” He lifts his head and looks at Akira, who raises a single eyebrow in response.

Yusuke chuckles, a dark and wicked laugh that sends a jolt through Akira’s body. Everything in Akira practically whines at the sound. “Do you really believe a polyamorous art student would not have experiment with paint before?”

Akira is unable to stop the blush that creeps up his cheeks and burns there, thoughts of Yusuke alone in his dorm room reaching for paint, another thought of bodies, so many bodies, each streaked with color with Yusuke in the middle of it all, spent and dazed with a dash of purple across his cheek. He feels a pulse run through his body straight to his cock and regretfully realizes he can’t take his own pants off, not with his hands like this now, and _fuck_ if that doesn’t just make him harder, the idea that he _can’t_ touch himself, has to give _everything he’s got_ to Yusuke and watch him unravel before him. Eagerly Akira reaches for Yusuke, happy to shut him up and watch him fall apart.

And fall apart he does. At first touch Yusuke’s entire back arches, a delightful whimper as finally he gets what he’s been craving. The colors in Akira’s palm mix together beautifully, swirling together as he wraps his fingers around the base of Yusuke’s cock and slides upwards. It’s a sight Akira could look at forever: the paint drying on Yusuke’s chest, the flush in his cheeks, how his hands run through and tug at his own hair, all so mesmerizing and perfect and lewd. Akira lefts out a soft moan himself as a glob of paint drips down and pools where leg meets hip, running down and disappearing under Yusuke’s ass. Akira doesn’t mind if it stains his sheets; actually hopes it does so he has a little memento of this night.

Yusuke rolls his hips upwards, impatient at Akira’s slow pace, but Akira firmly presses Yusuke’s hips back into the bed. “No no,” he says, “Do not rush an artist.”

“Are you always like this?” Yusuke comments, but with a twist of Akira’s wrist he settles into something between a whimper and a moan. Akira smiles to himself.

“This incredible at getting someone off, you mean?” He twists his wrist again and Yusuke can’t help the way his whole body reacts, hips bucking into Akira’s fist as his back goes rigid. He falls back onto the bed with what was intended to be a sigh of exasperation but comes out as one of surrender. Akira nods, answering his own question. “Yeah, kinda am.”

“We will have to do something about-- _oh, yes, like that_ \--about that ego of yours,” Yusuke says through gritted teeth, pausing to moan as Akira’s thumb circles the head of his cock. _Edible paint, definitely need to invest in some edible paint,_ Akira thinks, tongue slowly licking his bottom lip, his eyes on Yusuke’s reactive movements.

Within moments Yusuke is twisting on the bed, hands running over his face, through his hair, nails raking down his own neck. He’s nearly sick with arousal, crazy with the need to touch Akira but _he’s so far away,_ and then he does that _thing_ with his hand that sets Yusuke off all over again, hips desperate for more, breathing shallow and quick and groans sounding like gravel. Yes, he had used paint in his sexual explorations before, but it hadn’t felt as incredible as this. What was the difference now? Yusuke tries to think, tries to answer his own thoughts but Akira’s other hand wraps around him now, both hands pumping him quickly and it’s too much, far too much to be thinking about anything other than the dark haired boy before him completely turning him to mush.

“P-please,” he gasps, everything in him on fire, everything so hot and dizzy.

“I have you,” Akira whispers, “Yusuke, come for me.”

The sound of his name in Akira’s mouth, the feel of the paint and of Akira’s dedicated, deft hands is the end for Yusuke. He comes with loud whine, now painting his stomach with himself (and a bit of the wall, they’ll notice later with a laugh). Akira pumps slowly through Yusuke’s orgasm, aware of the heightened sensitivity, doing his best to be delicate yet complete.

Yusuke breathes deeply, gasping, slowly sliding down from his high. His eyelids fall gently as he tries to get a hold of himself. He doesn’t notice when Akira maneuvers off of him and wets a towel with a nearby water bottle; is only loosely aware of the damp towel wiping his chest, his stomach, between his legs. Akira is gentle, taking care to be soft as he wipes the paint and come clean. The act makes his cheeks burn, something about it far more intimate than what just occurred.

After Yusuke is clean (more or less), Akira wipes his own hands off and tosses the towel on the floor to be cleaned up later. For now he just wants to lay next to Yusuke, who still seems to be trying to calm himself down. Akira grins, happy with his work. His own arousal starts to subside, the pain and pressure in his pants lessening with every minute that passes. He’s not disappointed though--he was all too happy to give than receive.

“Hey,” Akira says softly, kneeling on the end of the bed, trying to get Yusuke’s attention. Yusuke, though, doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge that Akira is there. He picks up Yusuke’s feet and drops them to the side, then crawls up the bed as Yusuke lazily moves over a couple inches. Akira’s fully aware the bed can’t comfortably hold both of them--that is, unless he’s right up against Yusuke, which is exactly what he plans to do. He lays on his side and throws an arm across Yusuke’s chest, sighing happily and nuzzling into Yusuke’s neck. The feel of their bare chests against each other is something perfect.

“So, did you enjoy fingerpainting?” Akira whispers. Yusuke, finally back to earth, snorts.

“Your version, yes,” he pauses, “Though you lacked some finesse. I will show you how to do it next time.”

Akira’s genuinely unsure if Yusuke is trying to be flirtatious or if he’s serious about critiquing Akira’s fingerpainting technique, and the fact that he can’t be sure makes him all the more fond of Yusuke. He laughs gently into Yusuke’s neck, breathing in his scent. It’s something light, airy, almost like jasmine. It’s intoxicating.

“Okay, Yusuke. I look forward to it.”

They lay like that, pressed against each other in the happy warmth of afterglow, for quite some time. Akira feels languid and deep, like the world is a purple hue, calm and reaching to his bones. He hopes Yusuke feels as sedated and peaceful.

Time passes in a way neither of them can track until Yusuke begins to stir. “I must head back,” he says, though he doesn’t seem to be trying _that_ hard to leave. Akira makes no effort to move.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Akira,” Yusuke begins, but Akira stops him.

“Seriously, Yusuke, I’m already half asleep. If you leave now I’ll never forgive you. We can pretend I made you stay, I don’t care, just _don’t leave me._ ” The “me” comes out before Akira can stop it; his cheeks turn a deep shade of red. Yusuke gasps, then reaches for Akira’s hand that lays lazily on his chest. He holds it tightly.

“I would not dare.”

They both know what he means, and it is with that they start to fade into sleep, it coming over them softly and warm.

“Oh, and Yusuke?” Akira says, tongue heavy with the incoming sleep, “I think Ryuji’s ready. We should,” and here he yawns, “We should start tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rinbin," you may be asking, "Are you ever going to get to the point?!"
> 
> Yes, my patient friend. I'm notorious for setting up stories extensively, perhaps unnecessarily, but this isn't my creative writing class so ANYTHING GOES. I promise I will get to the point ASAP.


	5. At Dawn's First Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of The Plan involves Yusuke appealing to Ryuji's nature and maybe pushing his boundaries again
> 
> feat. Personal-Space-What's-Personal-Space Yusuke and all the Ryuji-love I can give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes y'all. sorry this took me so long. I was working overtime all last week and writing this was like pulling teeth, my writers block was mad strong. Now that we've begun though I'm excited for everything to come!!!! 
> 
> MAJOR SECOND PALACE SPOILER just fyi!!

_“You want to make him feel sorry for you?”_

_Crossed arms. “No. Sorry is pity. I want him to feel sympathetic.”_

_“And that will do what, exactly?”_

_“Solidarity is a powerful motivator. If he understands that you have a similar effect on someone else other than him, he will realize he’s not alone.”_

_A frown. “But he already knows you like me.”_

_“The feelings are not the effect; it is the undoing of a person that is the effect. You undo him, make him uncomfortable because he can’t easily sort you into a category. You are his best friend, but you are somehow more, as well.”_

_“And I undo you too?” Smirking._

_“Yes. Is that not obvious?”_

_A laugh. “Okay. How will we know it’s working?”_

_“If I reveal my heart to him, he will either take great care with it or he will push me away. Both are indications of success.”_

_Another laugh. “So how will we know if it’s not working?”_

_“He jumps out of Morgana while we’re moving.”_

* * *

 

They’re in Mementos, working on their crits so they’re better prepared for re-entering the pyramid palace, when Yusuke decides to begin. Ann hadn’t come along since her parents were in town for a few nights, so it was just the boys and Makoto. Akira offered to drive Morgana and Makoto had suggested she ride shotgun to help strategize--Yusuke had looked approvingly at Akira, it working out easier than they thought. In the back sat Yusuke and Ryuji, silent while Akira and Makoto eagerly discussed battle formations. The boys in back were content in this silence; no awkward air between them, but no need to fill it either. Ryuji smacks his pipe into the palm of his hand every now and then, the anxious energy of Mementos getting to him. Yusuke watches these movements, assessing for the right moment. Finally, Ryuji sets the pipe at his feet and sighs. It feels like an opening.

Yusuke turns to Ryuji, who acknowledges him with a glance. “Somethin’ up, man?”

“Yes, actually. I have been meaning to ask you a question.”

Ryuji faces Yusuke, surprise evident in his expression. He and Yusuke don’t talk very often, at least not one-on-one, so the fact Yusuke has something he wants to ask Ryuji makes him curious. He nods once for Yusuke to continue.

“You lack impulse control and struggle with self-regulation,” Yusuke says plainly. Ryuji makes a face, half confused and half irritated. Was that supposed to be a question?

“What’s your point?”

“How do you do it?” Yusuke begins fiddling with the mask in his lap, something Ryuji’s never seen him do before. Yusuke’s always been a bit of a slow mover, kinda like honey or somethin’--he’s not really one to fidget. Ryuji realizes Yusuke’s troubled by something, and though he has no idea how _he_ fits into it all, the realization softens Ryuji. He’d do anything for his teammates, and despite the fact he’s not particularly close with Yusuke, Ryuji wants to help him out. What else were teammates for?

He scratches at his head, unsure of how to answer. “Uh, isn’t the point of what you said that I just sorta do it? I don’t think about it?”

Yusuke nods seriously, “Yes, I suppose that would be the case. Still, though, I must know how you lack inhibition. It seems any time I try to simply just _do_ I end up thinking too hard. You do without pause, and though I do not always approve, I have come to admire it.”

Ryuji’s thoughtful for a moment, eyes on Yusuke’s long fingers that travel over the white mask. Even this fidgeting has a hint of smoothness to it. He thinks of his friend, of Yusuke’s frankness, and gets an idea.

“Okay, dude, so you know how you just sorta talk without thinkin’? And half the time it comes out soundin’ weird as hell?”

Yusuke’s eyes narrow as he looks at Ryuji, who raises his hands in defense, “Hey, just tryin’ to help, man. You have to channel that energy into doin’ stuff. Like, I talk without thinking sometimes too, cause I just kinda follow my heart. If I see someone in trouble I gotta help if I can, or hell, even if I can’t, you know? You just...do it.”

Ryuji looks at Yusuke carefully, who looks back down at his mask. He waits for a reply but receives none.

“Is there something goin’ on, Fox? Do you know someone in trouble? Cause you know the Phantom Thieves can help!” he tries to be encouraging, to transfer some energy to his downtrodden teammate, but Yusuke just sighs.

“Someone’s in trouble, yes, but I am unsure how well the Phantom Thieves can aide the situation.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Ryuji lightly punches Yusuke’s arm, a comfortability present in the act that Yusuke wasn’t expecting, “We can do anything! What is it, man? Someone at your school again?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

Ryuji frowns, then it dawns on him. “Oh, is it _you_? Are you alright?” He feels anger flare through him, “Is someone bullyin’ you? I’ll give him a talking to, but I dunno how much talkin’ _he’ll_ be able to do after if you know what I mean.” Ryuji swings his fist in front of him, imagining the bully he’d knock out. Yusuke finds it impossibly endearing.

Yusuke’s surprised by the way his body rushes warm. He had agreed to this for Akira, hadn’t given Ryuji much thought beyond what Akira told him, but the easy loyalty that Ryuji gives him touches his heart. Yusuke was not used to friends, was even less familiar with the concept of more than one friend, and finds his cheeks growing rosy. This was part of the plan: to appeal to Ryuji’s nature, his loyalty, and create a stronger bond, but what seemed easy and unattached now felt difficult and maybe too manipulative. Ryuji gave so easily; what was the point in coercing him into such a position? How could you manipulate what happened of its own accord? _So this is what it feels like to Akira,_ he wonders, _when Ryuji offers his unconditional support._ No wonder his muse was having such a hard time resisting this blond boy. Yusuke forces himself to focus, thoughts turning back to the plan.

He holds his mask tightly in his hands before removing it from his lap and placing it on his other side. “I am fine, but I don’t know how well your advice will help. If I am to follow my heart to be impulsive, inherently I must have an impulsive heart. I don’t believe I have one of those. You do.”

“Wait, I’m confused,” Ryuji says, scratching his head again, “ _You_ want to be more like _me?_ ” he chuckles, “You sure you feelin’ okay? No one in their right mind would wanna be me _._ ”

And there it is again, the warm feeling flooding Yusuke, but this time it comes with a hint of frustration. Ryuji was, impulsive, yes, and lacked tact. He was immature and crude most of the time but he was...sincere. Much sincerer than anyone Yusuke had ever known. The thought that he would ever be disappointed in such a noble quality bothers Yusuke, plan nearly forgotten. The world was full of such impurity already; why soil something so good-natured? Hadn’t they seen enough of the dark underbelly of the world?

He shakes his head, tone harsh as he speaks, “No, you are perfect the way you are, don’t say such trivial things.”

It’s Ryuji’s turn to flush with warmth, blush creeping up his cheeks. Yusuke was direct, Ryuji was well aware, but it was new being the target of such kindness. It was something Ryuji had always appreciated about Yusuke; the dude was honest, even if it came out strangely. He wasn’t gonna pretend to like you if he didn’t. Ryuji admired that, and the simple honesty of Yusuke’s statement makes him feel...feel what? Special? _Nah, that sounds too weird._ It made him feel...like he believed Yusuke, that maybe he wasn’t too bad after all. That said, he didn’t expect to be effin’ _blushing_ because of the weirdo. He rolls his shoulders: he didn’t mean to get into the touchy-feely stuff. Ryuji redirects the conversation to the subject at hand.

“For real, though, why you wanna be impulsive? It gets me into trouble more times than not.”

Yusuke looks up, eyes focused on someone in the front seat. “I am having difficulty in matters of the heart.”

 _Ah._ Ryuji should’ve guessed. _Shit._ He follows Yusuke’s gaze towards Akira, whose face is turned up in concentration as Makoto speaks. Their fearless leader. He looks back at the expression on Yusuke’s face; _same dude,_ he thinks, and the thought doesn’t register enough for him to fight it. He wants to be helpful to Yusuke, especially since part of him feels honored to be Yusuke’s confidant, but he’s not sure how much he can stomach _romantic_ talk about Yusuke and Akira. He didn’t do so hot when Akira was talkin’ to him about Yusuke, even worse when it was about other dudes. He can feel that twisting in his stomach already, like all he’s gonna do durin’ the conversation is imagine things he has no business imagining, things that make him feel angry and protective for reasons he’s not sure he understands. _Except you do. You understand,_ says that voice in his head, which, now that he thinks about it, sounds a lot like Captain Kidd.

Ryuji doesn’t have it in him to turn Yusuke away, though, not once they’ve gotten this far. He was just so innocent, sincere. Akira’s cocky attitude was a lot easier to rebuff than the hope in Yusuke’s eyes. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about Yusuke effin’ tryin’ to hold Akira’s hand or some shit, Ryuji gives in.

“Well,” he takes a deep breath, “Where do you wanna be more impulsive?”

Yusuke clears his throat and leans in closer like it’s a secret, “The sex.”

Ryuji sucks in a breath so fast he starts choking on it, coughing and flailing in the backseat. Makoto quickly turns, brow furrowed as she watches Ryuji sputter. Akira glances back once and locks eyes with Yusuke, who smiles slyly like he’s up to something. _What did he do?_ Akira wonders. He makes a point to try to listen in on their conversation. Makoto sighs like she’s the mother of ten kids and Ryuji’s the problem child (which, to be fair, is kind of true). She turns back forward, eager to get back to her conversation with Akira.

“Hey! No puking in the interior!” Morgana shouts, voice reverberating through the inside. Ryuji grips the back of the seat in front of him, cough rattling through his chest, and glares at Yusuke. _The hell, man?!_ _I thought we were havin’ a moment!_ Yusuke reaches over and thumps Ryuji twice on his back, which helps somewhat, and soon Ryuji is taking desperately deep breaths. He wasn’t expecting this.

“Hell no, Fox,” Ryuji rasps out, “Ya lost me. I’m not talkin’ about that.”

Yusuke looks genuinely confused, but there’s a glint in his eye. “But why not?”

“Uh, well for one, it’s not like I have experience in the whole bro-lovin’-bro department.”

Up front, Akira’s doing his best not to let the smile that’s playing at the corner of his mouth give himself away. Instead he focuses his eyes on Makoto’s hands, spread out over a battle sequence she’s drawn up. Morgana interrupts every now and then to provide his two cents, which is giving Yusuke and Ryuji the privacy Yusuke was hoping for. Morgana would be inclined to meddle and Yusuke wasn’t interested in fending Morgana off. Yusuke chuckles darkly and Ryuji can’t help the reaction his body has, goosebumps covering his arms, a slight chill running down his back. The laugh is confident, perhaps even teasing, like he’s fully aware of what he’s doingi. _He’s been spending too much time with Akira,_ he thinks sourly. He’s thankful for the full-body coverage of his metaverse outfit--that kind of reaction would be hard to explain.

“You may relax,” Yusuke says, smiling, “I was not asking for tips on seduction. I am knowledgeable in that regard,” and that chill shoots through Ryuji again, the space inside the van feelin’ like it’s growing smaller, confirmation of what he suspected but surprising all the same, “I must lay my heart bare, though, and surely you can consider how few people I have to talk to. I find Queen...intimidating, and I do not wish to make Panther uncomfortable again. I have no other friends. Please.”

“Oh, so you have no problem makin’ _me_ uncomfortable,” Ryuji mumbles, but his heart gets the better of him. He can’t turn the guy down _now,_ not after he’s practically begging Ryuji to talk. Everything in him feels funny, like it’s all turned to liquid and is swishing around uncomfortably.

“Fine,” he says, waving a hand, “Let’s get it over with.”

Yusuke scoots towards him quickly and suddenly; Ryuji tries to slide away, but he’s already pressed up against the side of the van as is, so there’s not much room for him to go anywhere. Yusuke’s leg presses against Ryuji’s. Ryuji tries desperately to not have any part of him touch Yusuke, but Yusuke just keeps getting _closer_ like his life depends on it.

“D-dude?”

Yusuke leans in, inches from his face, expression showing no acknowledgement of how weird this is. Ryuji stiffens; what was with this guy and not understanding personal space?

This time there’s warning in his voice: “Dude.”

Yusuke leans back, but only about an inch. Whatever. Ryuji’ll take it.

“So, the sex,” Yusuke begins, tone hushed, and Ryuji’s cheeks flush immediately. He watches Akira carefully, who doesn’t seem to be listening, still talking to Makoto and Morgana about fighting strategies. “I’d like to be more impulsive in the bedroom. I find I am unevenly matched.”

Akira disguises a laugh with a cough. He had to hand it to Yusuke; at this rate, Ryuji was gonna be a blushing mess on the floor of the van in ten seconds.

“Er, alright bro,” Ryuji says, eyes narrowed, wondering if Akira wasn’t eavesdropping after all, “I thought you said you weren’t lookin’ for tips?”

Yusuke smiles slowly, “I’m not, not for the end result.” The phrase gets Ryuji’s ears burning all over again. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away all the accompanying thoughts, “But surely you understand the hesitance I feel about the beginning of a night alone; despite all your talk, you have not been with anyone, have you?”

Yusuke watches the color of Ryuji’s face turn brighter and Yusuke nods seriously, content with the answer, before continuing: “The same is not true of Akira,” and Ryuji knows this, he effin’ _knows_ this, but it still sets everything in him off again like it did the night Akira told him. Ryuji squirms uneasily, still not quite able to move thanks to Yusuke’s body trapping him against the side of the van.

“I wish to make him feel as I do,” (Ryuji takes a deep breath) “Spontaneity is refreshing in lust,” (Ryuji’s hands grip his knees, nails digging in) “And impulsivity can heighten the experience for everyone involved. Akira is so controlling,” ( _Of course he is, the little shit, probly so cocky_ ) “That I’m sure I could surprise him and turn the tables, take control of _him,_ ” (Ryuji can feel the heat from Yusuke’s body, can feel his own heat, presses his damp forehead against the cool window) “But it is so difficult to consider these things in the moment. If you only knew what he can do with his hands.” ( _Oh fuck._ )

Ryuji head falls back against the car seat with a groan, meant to be exasperated but it sounds different than usual and immediately he’s not sure where it came from or, worse, _why._ His eyes, which had closed during the movement, shoot open with shock, head snapping back up. Yusuke sits back, surprised, facade falling a bit--not even he could have predicted the reaction, assuming that the worst Ryuji would do is blush deeper (though, Yusuke’s not entirely sure that’s possible, given the color present in his cheeks already. He matches Akira’s gloves). At the same time, Akira and Makoto sit up with surprise before turning to look at their blushing friend who looks like he wants to die on the spot.

“What the heck are you two doing back there?” Morgana quips. He sounds teasing yet serious, like he’s actually kind of afraid of the answer. “No funny business in my van!”

“N-nothing!,” Ryuji shouts, a little too loudly, and god why was Morgana’s AC so goddamn shitty, it’s so effin’ _hot_ in the van, and why the hell can’t Yusuke understand personal space and back the hell up, and what was that smug-ass look on Makoto’s face for, and _god_ he’s not even gonna _bother_ lookin’ at Akira. “I just, he was tellin’ me a sto- it’s not _that_ kind of noise I swear, I meant- We’re not doin’ anything, you sicko! He just reminded me of my homework I forgot to do!” He buries his head in his hands to hide the burning blush on his face. Why this, why now, why couldn’t he just get a goddamn hold of himself?

“Mmhmm,” Makoto hums, sarcasm dripping from her tone, but she turns back around all the same. She gives Akira a quizzical glance, eyes asking if he knows what’s going on, but Akira just chuckles before turning back, grabbing the wheel as Morgana complains about the lack of Shadows for practice. Ryuji shoves Yusuke back in embarrassed rage. Yusuke falls back and nearly hitting his head on the other side of the van and the stunned look on his face makes Ryuji regret it immediately. He holds a sheepish hand out to help his friend back into a seated position.

“Sorry, dude. I-I didn’t mean that. I just...been feelin’ a little overwhelmed lately.”

“It’s quite alright, Skull,” Yusuke says, adjusting his metaverse outfit that had turned askew upon Ryuji’s shove, “But as I was saying, those hands of his ar-”

And thank god, _thank god_ Makoto spots a Shadow and cries out, _thank god_ Akira slams on the gas and drives straight into its back so they’re thrown into battle, _thank god_ there’s nothing else to think about besides kickin’ some Shadow ass because Ryuji definitely doesn’t have time for any more heart-to-hearts with Yusuke or about Akira or any of the enticing-- _no!_ infuriating things they get up to.

Ryuji winds up and puts all his feelings into his swing. It’s a critical hit, but somehow Ryuji feels like he’s the one who got knocked on his ass.

 

* * *

 

“What’d I miss?” Ann’s cheery voice comes over the phone. Ryuji’s at home, hurriedly cleaning his room before his mom comes back from work, a chore he was supposed to do three days ago. He didn’t like silence, though, and he had missed her during their Mementos grind, so he gave her a call when he got home. ‘Sides, his mom would be less upset if he told her he didn’t clean his room cause he was helpin’ a friend on the phone! (Nevermind that nine times outta ten Ann is helping Ryuji, but his mom didn’t need to know that part).

“Eh, nothing much, we worked on our crits some more s’all.”

“Oh?” and Ryuji jerks up suddenly--there’s that _tone_ of hers, that teasing I-know-more-than-you-do tone like she’s about to drop some sorta bomb. “I heard someone had a _moment_ in the backseat.”

Ryuji whines, ears burning, “Oh come on! Who told you that? I _said_ that Yusuke reminded me of homework! Nothin’ else!”

“Makoto said it was ‘rather inappropriate sounding.’”

“Tell her she’s on my list.”

Ann giggles. “Look, we both know it wasn’t homework. No way Yusuke, who doesn’t even go to our school, could remind you of that. What was it really?”

Ryuji fumbles, embarrassed, before finally telling Ann it was about Yusuke’s desire to be more impulsive in the bedroom. Ann let’s out a single, triumphant “HA!”

“So Makoto _was_ right! You were gettin’ off in the backseat of Morgana!” she sounds thrilled, like she wants to say more, but her words die quickly.

There’s an awkward pause.

“I take that back. I feel uncomfortable thinking about anyone doing anything inside Morgana.”

Ryuji snorts in agreement.

There’s another pause, but this one feels heavier, like someone should fill it but Ryuji doesn’t know with what. Normally he’d just go for it, rambling on about something, but he feels tired. He chews his bottom lip absentmindedly, waiting for Ann to figure it out. She always does. Eventually, she sighs.

“Ryuji, this emotional constipation isn’t good for you. Why not just admit it and get it over with?”

Deep down, Ryuji knows she’s gotta be right. That admitting things is easier, or that admitting it will lift some sort of weight, but the truth is he’s worried it’ll make everything worse. Say he does have feelings for Akira (even though he doesn’t), what’s he supposed to do then? Pursue him just cause he said Yusuke wouldn’t mind? Who would choose bumbling, loud Ryuji over elegant, contemplative Yusuke? Who would choose Ryuji period?

“Look, I know you think you know something about me, like I’ve got feelings for Akira or for Yusuke or for every goddamn pretty boy that walks into my life, but I don’t, alright? And even if I did, wh-what would I do with that? How could I do anythin’ about it? No one’s gonna like _me,_ local town idiot who walks with a gimp. I can’t even pick up a girl; what makes you think a boy would be any easier? I don’t got time for dumb shit like that, and Akira’s prolly the _last_ person who would like me. He’s all the stuff I’m not: cool, calm, calculating, quiet. He’s like the moon or some shit--mysterious and aloof--while I’m over here like an effin’ grenade. Don’t try to make me confess. I’m a boy, he’s a boy with a boyfriend, and ain’t nothin’ gonna happen. Let it _go_ , Ann.”

Ryuji can hear Ann breathing softly on the other line. He scratches the back of his neck, aware he started to lose his cool. Before he can apologize, though, Ann starts talking.

“I love you either way, Ryuji Sakamoto, and you’re damn better than a grenade.”

His face burns, but with something different than usual; something warm and touching, like he’s talkin’ to a sister he never had. And, hey, isn’t that kinda what Ann was? She was beautiful, kind, and sweet but he knows he hasn’t felt romantic towards her since that one embarrassing afternoon in middle school when he tried to kiss her (they don’t talk about it [unless Ann wants something from Ryuji, which is why he hasn’t finished his last bite of crepe in months]). He feels content at the thought, the painful embarrassment from the day’s events dissipating in the background.

“Thanks,” he says, “And for the record you’re just kinda _eh._ ” He tries to sound serious, but he’s certain she can hear the smile in his voice.

She laughs, “You’re the worst. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Ryuji hangs up, he flops back onto his bed with a groan. What was going on with him? What was going on with everyone around him? Yusuke and him barely talk and then all of a sudden Yusuke wants to talk about “the sex,” like...c’mon dude. Not your average bro talk. Well...okay, sort of your average bro talk, but not really, because it involved another bro and that was just crossin’ too many lines.

Or was it?

Ryuji didn’t know, felt weird that he didn’t know. Used to be an easy question to answer. He shakes his head and sighs: why did things have to be so difficult? He almost--almost--misses how it was when things were shitty. Like, yeah he didn’t have Akira and the Phantom Thieves, but at least that was predictable. At least there was a pattern to all of that shit. Now apparently everyone around him was going crazy. Or maybe he was. Who knew.

Ryuji sighs and flops over onto his stomach, the conversation in Mementos replaying itself. Yusuke acted so lost sometimes, and when Ryuji thinks about it, the poor guy didn’t have much to go off of. He’d basically been a shut in his whole life, workin’ on art under the rule of a ruthless man who effin’ _watched his mother die_. Jesus. Ryuji’s cheeks sting when he thinks about how he pushed Yusuke. Man, Ryuji really was an idiot. How can ya push someone who’s just lookin’ for help from the only other friend he feels he can talk to? Even if the conversation makes Ryuji uncomfortable...ugh.

Ryuji pulls out his phone.

 

* * *

 

Across town, Yusuke’s sitting on Akira’s couch looking very pleased with himself.

“I told you it would go well.”

Akira chuckles, turning and sitting on his bed, “I didn’t think you’d jump straight to ‘sex tips.’”

Yusuke frowns, air of confidence gone in an instant. He looks irritated. “If you recall, I specifically did not ask for any sexual tips. I needed to assess his comfort with the subject. I have less experience in discussing such matters with him than you do. And, as I said before, it gave me a chance to appeal to his heart. Is that not a goal of ours?”

“No, it’s definitely a goal, in fact it’s probably _the_ goal, I’m just...wary. I don’t want to push him away.” Akira rubs at the back of his neck. He’d been happy, eager even, to go along with this plan, but this felt way more delicate than any Phantom Thieves steal-your-heart business. This wasn’t the metaverse or cognitions or helping bring people to justice. This was his friend, his _best_ friend, who may or may not have boy-inclined feelings that he may or may not be ready to face. It was a risk, and the cost of losing probably meant losing Ryuji. Yusuke had told him on their way back to Lablanc that Ryuji had shoved him. They both knew he didn’t mean it, and like Yusuke said before it confirmed a suspicion, but that didn’t make it okay.

The frown on Yusuke’s face deepens as he stands and walks over to place a comforting hand on Akira’s shoulder. “You need not worry, my friend. We will do right by him.”

A phone chirps in the corner: Yusuke’s. He looks expectantly at Akira, who meets Yusuke’s eyes with confusion.

“What?” he asks.

“Just tell me what the group says, I do not feel like walking over there.”

Akira pulls out his phone--he could’ve sworn he didn’t have it on silent--and opens the messaging app but nothing new appears. “I don’t think it was the Phantom Thieves, ‘ke.” He looks back up at Yusuke, whose face softens, confused yet intrigued.

“I have no other friends…” he mumbles to himself, strolling over to his phone, “And you are the only other person to text me privately…”

When Yusuke opens up his text messages, there’s Ryuji’s face.

 

 **[Ryuji]** Hey man 

 **[Ryuji]** Just wanted to say sorry again for pushin u

 **[Ryuji]** i guess it was just that impulsive side ur so jealous of? lol

 

Yusuke’s face grows into a grin as he reads the messages.

 

 **[Ryuji]** sry, not the time for a joke, i know. But, really Yusuke, sorry for pushing u like that. I lost my cool. it won’t happen again.

 **[Ryuji]** i’d never do anything to hurt u or the team, i hope ya know that

 

Akira watches Yusuke, bemused at the expression on Yusuke’s face. Could it be a friend at school? _No, Yusuke just said he doesn’t have any other friends._ Then who? Someone on the Phantom Thieves, of course, but who would text Yusuke and make him smile like that. 

Yusuke turns, a bewildered expression on his face. Akira squints; is that a blush? “It’s...Ryuji.”

“Oh?” Akira says, untangling his legs beneath him and walking over to Yusuke. He slides in behind the artist, arms snaking under his. He lifts himself on his toes just slightly to read over his shoulder. As he reads, he too smiles goofily. He nuzzles Yusuke’s neck.

“Mmm, yep, I know that feeling.”

“He is just so...good.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I feel warm.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You were right. This _is_ hard to decipher.”

“ _Mm-fricking-hmm.”_

 

* * *

 

Ryuji jitters around his room, staring at his phone, still trying to clean up but really only moving the mess from one side of the room to the other. He sent those texts like, ten minutes ago! Was Yusuke really mad? Oh man, maybe he really effed up this time. _Shit._

Finally, his phone dings. Saved by the bell. He lunges for it and reads the message.

 

 **[Yusuke]** Thank you, friend. In return, I hope you know that though you are rather wild, your light is evident. Thank you for being there for me today. I hope we get a chance to converse again soon.

 

Ryuji smiles so hard his cheeks hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've mentioned I'm pegoryu 4ever but yusuke and ryuji??? are so fun to write together??? they're both super sincere and both kinda do things without thinking but they're almost exact opposites at the same time.


	6. The Moon Controls the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The World Today According to Ryuji
> 
> Inside: hot  
> Outside: hot  
> Akira: hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know technically they don't go to the beach until after Futaba but I am not skilled enough to handle that many characters at once (as you will soon see lmao) so AU where they go before too. v v v minor pyramid palace spoilers. couple beach scene spoilers, but minor as well.

The Phantom Thieves are gathered in Akira’s room, each thief trying desperately to feel less hot in the heat of this summer.

 

Makoto was leaning against the wall, head occasionally lolling from side to side, sweat dripping down her neck. She held the collar of her long white shirt open, both thankful that the tank top she wore underneath kept her from worrying about showing too much and regretful that she had another layer to trap in the heat. Every few minutes she’d gather the bottom of her shirt and bring it up to her neck, dabbing at the sweat there. Occasionally she’d also blow softly into her shirt, allowing the air to cool her damp skin, but the relief never lasted long.

 

Morgana lay flat on the ground, looking like a melted blob of goo. Seemed like every thirty seconds he was complaining about the heat again, saying his spot on the ground got too hot and he’d crawl dramatically to a new spot. He was thankful that the floor was at least a little cool, cooler than anywhere else in the room, but he was definitely debating jumping out the window and making his way to the neighbor’s shaded bird bath. At least that would be better than all this stagnant air.

 

Ann had tied her hair up, desperate to get the heavy weight of it off of her shoulders. Even in pigtails it had made her feel hot and itchy, so now the mess of hair was piled atop her head like a massive nest. She was sitting on the cushion seat Makoto had gifted to Akira (“Your place needs more character,” she had said, plopping it in the corner one afternoon) and was leaning forward, head hanging down. Sweat was pooling in her cleavage and she wanted so badly to grab a tissue and wipe it away, but that required moving and she wasn’t about to do that. She was pretty sure she was leaving a butt sweat stain on the cushion. Sorry Makoto.

 

Akira was cursing himself for not remembering to pack freaking _shorts._ He could picture them at his home--which strangely no longer felt like it deserved such a title--sitting in the bottom drawer of his dresser. He had considered grabbing them but decided against it, figuring he’d have time to go shopping and get himself new pairs. Then the Phantom Thieves happened and he made friends and Morgana had an obsession with him getting enough sleep and, well, Akira was shorts-less. Every part of him feels sticky and damp, like he’s the human embodiment of humidity. Sprawled out on his couch, he wishes he had at least bought himself a fan. Or maybe a bigger couch so Ryuji wasn’t laying on him too.

 

Ryuji is, of course, dying. He’s wearing a tank top but he’s seriously considering just taking it off. He’s laying down on the couch, one leg hanging off the side and the other propped in Akira’s lap. It’s his bad leg, so he knows Akira won’t say anything, and he doesn’t have the energy to care if he’s encroaching on Yusuke’s territory. He’s vaguely aware his shirt is damp through and through and the hairs at the nape of his neck are wet, but he’s mostly aware of the lack of airflow in Akira’s room. He could’ve sworn he just ran thirteen miles even though he hasn’t moved at all in twenty minutes-- _that’s_ how hot it feels. He throws a dramatic arm over his face and groans.

 

Yusuke, somehow, is the only one who appears cool. He’s got his long sleeved tunic on, pants, and boots yet is sitting comfortably on Akira’s desk chair. He’s absentmindedly sketching on the notebook he left here last time he came over, not really paying attention to what he’s drawing. It _is_ in fact hot, but it doesn’t seem to get to him. He’s not sweating, not complaining, face pale and patient. After a couple minutes he does roll his sleeves up, but less for the heat and more to avoid getting graphite on his shirt. He takes a small sip from the coffee he asked Boss to make when they all arrived.

 

“Yusuke,” Akira rasps out, throat dry, the first word spoken since everyone exchanged hello’s twenty minutes ago, “You know I got some fingerpaints if you want to paint instead of draw.” He smirks, but it is tired and lazy in the heat--a half-hearted attempt.

Yusuke gives Akira a look. “I’m quite alright, thank you.”

“So, we should begin the meeting,” Makoto says, her tone like Akira’s smirk: an attempt, but it comes out more tired than authoritative.

Ann rolls her head back up to look at her friend lazily, “Right, the uh...the pyramid. Where are we on that again?”

“Somewhere inside it, obviously,” Ryuji quips from under his arm. Heat makes him irritable.

“Well _obviously._ I meant more specifically,” Ann fires back. Ryuji waves a hand at her, a mix between something like “fine” and “whatever,” too tired to keep up the banter.

“We, uh, we’re stuck in the...” Akira takes a desperate deep breath, only able to get a few words out before he feels exhausted again, “...the boulder room, I think?”

“Yes,” Yusuke confirms, “We need to figure out the pattern.”

“How are we gonna do that here? Shouldn’t we just _go_ to the effin’ boulder room?” Ryuji stops for a second and thinks about his metaverse outfit: leather, full-body, tight, and reconsiders. “On second thought, let’s not. S’too hot for that.”

“It’s too hot for _anything,_ ” Ann whines, sitting up and slouching against the wall behind her. Her butt slides slightly on the cushion: yep, butt sweat confirmed. “Except the beach,” she muses, and then jolts up to her feet with more energy than she’s had in hours, “The beach! That’s it! We should go to the beach!”

Makoto makes a face. “The beach? Like with swimsuits and stuff?” She sounds nervous.

Ann raises her eyebrows, “As opposed to the beach with winter coats?”

“Beach sounds nice,” Ryuji says, “I could go for some less clothing right now.”

“You don’t need the beach to wear less clothing,” Akira teases, fingers tickling the bottom of Ryuji’s foot. Ryuji blushes _again_ and is thankful for the flush from the heat already present on his cheeks. He kicks Akira’s hand gently.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

“I would prefer if we stayed until sunset so I could see the colors,” Yusuke requests, turning to Ann, “Would that be doable?”

She shrugs, “Sure, why not? We can spend all day there. When’s the last time we all hung out just for the sake of hanging out?”

The room is silent as everyone tries to think of a time, but no one can. She claps her hands excitedly. “So it’s decided! We cool off at the beach!”

From the floor Morgana speaks. “Are cats allowed at this beach?” 

Ann places a finger on her chin, thinking. “I believe so, yes."  
  
“If they’re not you can just hang out in my bag like always,” Akira says, and the thought of being stuck in a bag in this heat makes Morgana groan.

“I can’t wait till I’m human again…” he grumbles.

“Meet back here in an hour?” Ann asks, the heat feeling beatable and like a temporary problem now. Nobody else has moved during the conversation, but now they slowly stir, getting ready to depart and change before coming back together. Yusuke stands, stretches, and nods, leaving the pencil and notebook on the table. Makoto twirls a short lock around her finger before taking a step forward and gently grabbing Ann’s wrist, asking for her help with choosing a bathing suit. Ann is all too happy to oblige. Akira grabs Ryuji’s ankle and lifts the leg slowly, then tenderly lowers the leg to the floor. Ryuji huffs that he’s not _delicate_ , but Akira notices the way he’s fighting a small smile. 

Gradually the Thieves shuffle out the door, headed to their respective homes. Akira stands and makes notice off all the sweat outlines from his friends, little leftover pieces of the meeting-that-never-happened: Ann’s butt on his cushion, Ryuji’s body on the couch, two shoulder blades where Makoto was leaning, and...nothing from Yusuke. Akira laughs to himself, shaking his head, and nudges Morgana with his foot on his way to the box of his clothes. He may have forgotten the shorts, but he definitely remembered the bathing suit.

 

Right?

 

...didn’t he?

 

* * *

 

By the time an hour has passed, the Phantom Thieves have a renewed sense of energy with the impending beach trip on their mind. Ann and Makoto are the first to show back up, Ann pulling Makoto lightly behind her up the stairs. Her hair bounces back in its usual style.

“Oh come on! You look totally hot in that suit!” she says, rounding the banister. They’re both wearing cover ups right now so it’s impossible for anyone to see how Makoto looks in the suit, but Ann knows and that’s all that matters. “Guys are gonna be all over you!”

Makoto frowns. “It’s not guy attention I’m trying to get here,” she mumbles, and even though Akira catches it, looking at her with surprise and intrigue, Ann doesn’t hear it because she’s squealing over the little bathing suit Akira has forced Morgana into.

“I can’t believe you let him do this,” she says with a laugh, leaning over a very perturbed looking Morgana.

“It was too hot to fight it…” he sighs. Ann continues chatting with Morgana, giving Akira a chance to go see Makoto.

Akira, wearing a basic white t-shirt, saunters over to where she’s pinching the bridge of her nose and breathing deeply. He nudges her shoulder and gestures to Ann with a nod.

“You into that, eh?” he asks, smiling. Her eyes flash open and she glares at him from the corner of her eye.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Greedy.”

“Hm?” he says, leaning towards her slightly. He’s teasing her, Makoto knows it, but she takes the bait anyway.

She rolls her eyes and drops her hands to her side, “Oh please, Akira. You think you’re subtle but we’ve _all_ caught you with a hand on Yusuke’s leg under the table when we go out to eat _and_ your eyes lingering on Ryuji nearly all the time. Too charming for your own good. Leave a Phantom Thief for the rest of us.” She tries not to smile at the end, tries to keep the same cool and charming composure that Akira does, but she can’t help it. She smiles and Akira laughs.

“Alright, fine. We can divide and conquer. I’ll take the boys, you take the girl. Deal?”

When Akira holds out his hand, she shakes her head but grips it anyway. He loves the way she squeezes his hand, powerful in all the best ways. Akira admires Makoto, and maybe if Yusuke and Ryuji weren’t so tempting, he’d have gone after her.

“They don’t call me Queen for nothing,” she says, eyes glinting, and it holds such an air of confidence that is more Queen than Mokoto that Akira has to laugh. He expected her to say people weren’t meant to be conquered--and, of course, they aren’t--so he can’t help his reaction.

“What’s so funny?” Yusuke asks, walking up the stairs and peering at the two between the bars. He’s got a sweatshirt on, hood up, and his bathing suit. It’s a remarkably casual look for Yusuke, who normally looks very clean and sharp. This makes him look cozy and comfy and Akira wants to just snuggle into him.

“Makoto’s got her own plan,” Akira says, looking over at Ann. Yusuke eyebrows furrow.

“Like ours?” he asks.

“You guys have a plan?” Makoto inquires.

“She’s pursuing Ann and...Morgana?” continues Yusuke.

“What?! No! J-just Ann. Why would you ask about both?” Makoto turns to Yusuke, who is now on her other side.

“We are aiming for a three person companionship,” Yusuke answers. Makoto turns back to Akira, eyes questioning. Three?

Akira shrugs. “You _did_ call me greedy.”

“And you have a...plan?”

“Indeed,” Yusuke says, leaning against the table and crossing his arms, “You witnessed the first part of it in Mementos the other day when Ryuji had his...episode.”

“Oh come on!” They hear from downstairs. All three turn to look over the railing to see Ryuji rounding the corner and stomping up the stairs, feet heavy like always, announcing his presence with noise. He’s got on a--surprise, surprise--tank top, but the sides are cut down. A frickin’ muscle tank. Of course. For a moment Akira wonders how much he heard, but he knows it can’t be much; they would’ve heard him come in, and he wouldn’t think to eavesdrop. He must’ve caught the end of Yusuke’s sentence. “If by ‘his episode’ you mean what happened in Mementos then I thought we were over that! I _told_ you it’s cause Yusuke was reminding me of schoolwork and _no one_ likes schoolwork.”

Ann stands from her kneeling position near Morgana and turns to her other friends. “Oh, right, I’m sorry to have missed it.”

Akira can hear the teasing in her voice. He fights the smile that threatens to break across his face-- _someone_ told her about the conversation, probably the real conversation and not this lame lie Ryuji’s spinning. He wants to believe it was Ryuji. In fact, he has a pretty good feeling it was Ryuji. The thought makes him almost jittery.

Ryuji adjusts the bag on his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, let’s make fun of the dumb blond kid.”

Ann takes a few steps and reaches for Ryuji, pinching his cheek and wiggling it softly. “Oh, come on, you know we love you.” He tears himself away from her and rubs his cheek, face annoyed but eyes kind.

“Looks like everyone is here,” Makoto says. “Should we be going?" 

“I’ll lead!” Ann says excitedly, turning back around to pick up Morgana and walking happily past her friends. They all turn and follow, single file, ready to get to the beach.

 

* * *

 

 

When they arrive it’s pretty crowded. Ann makes the best of it, though, sweet talking an older couple into moving over slightly so that everyone can fit. They lay out their blankets and towels, Yusuke sets up an umbrella, and slowly they settle in.

Ann pulls off the dress to reveal a flower print bikini, the colors bright like Ann’s personality. She looks good in a bikini--no one is surprised, of course, and though they all take a moment to admire her beauty, they certainly don’t leer at her. That is, unless you count Morgana, who sighs happily and loudly. Everyone turns to look at him. (Turns out the beach did allow cats...if you consider not knowing a cat was there as “allowing.” He snuck in in Ann’s beach bag).

“Ew,” Ann says, tossing her dress onto Morgana’s head, “Don’t be weird, Mona.”

Makoto follows Ann’s lead, though her cover up has a lot of buttons up the front, so she takes her time going down. When it’s finished, the garment slides off her shoulders. Her arms hover across her body, a moment of hesitance and insecurity, but she takes a deep breath and drops her arms to her sides. Her suit is less colorful, instead a soft gray, but it works against her dark hair and paler skin. Her eyes are bright enough. Each Phantom Thief watches this too, but it’s Ann who looks the longest. The suit really did make Makoto look hot.

Akira and Ryuji both just pull of their t-shirts and stuff them into Ryuji’s bag. They do it at the same time, so when they both place the shirts inside the back, bent over it, inches apart, they catch each other’s eye. They stand slowly and Akira doesn’t try to hide the way his eyes scan Ryuji’s body. He’s seen it before, of course, in the showers after they train, but he’s only gotten glimpses in such an environment. Here he gets to really admire each line of the parts he doesn’t normally see: his chest, puffed out slightly, and Akira thinks those chest flies he’s been doing are really working for him. The line down the center of his body, dividing pec from pec and defining the beginning of abs. Ryuji didn’t look like a powerlifter or anything, but he looked _strong._ Solid. Tight. Every movement Ryuji makes causes another muscle group to appear, another piece of evidence of how athletic he is, how dedicated he is, how pretty freaking hot he is. Akira revels in the way his own body reacts to all this visual stimulation, nerves buzzing and cheeks warm.

Ryuji doesn’t want to, wills himself not to, but it’s so goddamn hot that he doesn’t have much willpower. When they begin to straighten back up, Ryuji glances at Akira’s body. The dude seems effin’ built for stealth, lean but strong. Ryuji’s seen him train, knows he runs like a freakin’ dork but at least his pull ups have been treating his shoulders and arms nicely. Ryuji trusts that if Akira were to twist or turn around he’d see the back muscles there, somethin’ like waves underneath Akira’s skin, little dimples where one muscle bulge meets another. He notices the shape of Akira’s body, wider at the shoulders and narrower in the hips, and his eyes linger too long on the lines that disappear below the bathing suit’s waistband.

Ann coughs, “Alright, whenever you two are finished…” she starts, and Ryuji’s knocked out of his haze. He looks up to Akira’s face, who is looking at him an eyebrow cocked, a smirk starting, and Ryuji wants to get that dumbass smirk off his face any way possible. _With a kiss,_ says one voice. _STOP IT,_ says another.

“R-right,” Ryuji stammers, “Well, what we gonna do now that we’re here? I brought a volleyball if we wanna play.”

“Uh, actually,” Makoto begins, “I uh, rented a boat for me and Ann.”

Ann turns to Makoto gasping and clapping her hands, “You did?! Oh my gosh! That’ll be so fun!”

Makoto smiles, meeting Akira's gaze. She shrugs, face flushed.

“W-wait, just for you two?” Ryuji asks, eyes flashing to each thief in the circle. “What’re _we_ supposed to do?!”

“I dunno,” Ann shrugs, one hand locked on Makoto’s wrist, and then her eyes twinkle, “Each other?”

Ryuji practically chokes on his own spit again. “Ann! C’mon, I’m serious!”

“Me too,” she says, turning to Akira and Yusuke with a wink. She begins walking away, towing a gleeful Makoto behind her.

Ryuji turns to the two dark haired boys, but before he can say anything about what they’ll do, he notices Yusuke still has his sweatshirt on.

“Yusuke, ain’t ya gonna take that off?” He says, gesturing to the garment. Yusuke looks down, confused. He glances quickly at Akira but can’t read his face.

“My bathing suit? Ryuji, despite what she said, I believe Ann was joking when she said we should engage in sexual activities.”

Ryuji opens his mouth to object, to correct, but he snaps his jaw shut. Instead he looks over at Akira, eyelids drooped and mouth set in a line.

Akira begins and stops a sentence twice before saying, “To be fair, you could’ve been gesturing to the suit. Your hand movement was vague.”

“Oh, you lookin’ for a less vague hand movement?” Ryuji fires back, corner of his mouth twitching with a smile.

“Now, now, vulgar boy, don’t do something you’re going to regret.”

“Oh yeah? Local delinquent gonna stop me?”

They stare each other down for a second, both fighting the smiles that pull at their lips. Yusuke looks between the two back and forth a few times. “I believe I missed something.”

Akira lets out a loud laugh, interrupting the playful tension in the air, and pats him gently on the back, “Nah, buddy, didn’t miss a thing.”

The way he looks at Ryuji makes him forget all about how he usually gets twisty thinkin’ about Akira and Yusuke. Akira’s lookin’ at him like always, like Ryuji’s _special_ to ‘im, like they’re sharing something only the two of them can. He feels like he did back when it was just Akira and Ryuji runnin’ through Kamoshida’s palace, no idea what they’re doing or where they’re going but knowing that they’re gonna go there _together._ Ryuji still means something to Akira--Ryuji is still Akira’s best friend--and the edges of Ryuji’s insecurities get a little less sharp. Nothin’s changed. It’s still Akira, still smarmy ass Akira with his effin’ messy hair all over the place and those gray eyes that see through your freakin’ heart and those broad ass shoulders and-

“Help...me…” gasps Morgana, crawling out from under Ann’s forgotten cover up, “Must...get...water…”

Yusuke makes a noise of surprise and happiness, “Oh! Morgana! I can help!” he bends and swoops the listless Morgana into his arms and walks quickly towards the sea. He’s gone in a flash, but Akira and Ryuji can hear Morgana’s desperate pleas to turn back because he needs water _to drink_ and _no you can’t drink the ocean_ and _it’s saltwater Yusuke surely you know this_ and _PUT ME DOWN OR I SWEAR WHEN I’M HUMAN AGAIN I’LL--_

Akira looks at Ryuji, whose eyes haven’t left the growing-smaller shape of Yusuke, a light smile on his face. Akira knows that smile: it’s the same one Yusuke had just a few days ago when Ryuji texted him to apologize. He feels giddy again. He had hoped for this, sure, but he barely believed they’d be able to get Ryuji to admit his feelings for himself, let alone for Yusuke too.

All the same, Akira wasn’t totally surprised by this either. It’s why he felt so deeply for both boys. The biggest similarity Akira could find between Yusuke and Ryuji was that they were unafraid of sharing how they felt, of saying whatever it was they wanted to say. Ryuji didn’t like subtext; Yusuke didn’t know how to add it, or didn’t care to find out. Of course, they clearly had their differences in execution, but they evened each other out too. While Ryuji couldn’t get his comebacks to land quite like Yusuke, Yusuke’s attempts at warmth often came off strange or eccentric. It was a balancing act between the two and Akira felt like he fit right between them, enough snark and subtext for all three.

“Hey,” Akira says, pulling Ryuji’s attention back to himself, “It may be just us two but I can still kick your ass in volleyball.”

Ryuji smiles a toothy grin, “You’re on,” he says, bending down to pull the ball out of his bag. He begins lightly jogging towards an area with volleyball nets, expecting Akira to follow behind, but suddenly Akira rushes by. Ryuji feels the hard and fast sting of a slap on his ass, causing him to yelp in surprise. Akira turns around, jogging slightly faster than Ryuji, even backwards.

“Race ya?” he challenges. He’s got that glint in his eyes, Ryuji can see it even better with Akira’s glasses off, a sparkle and shine that makes Ryuji feel like the sand is clouds and there’s nobody else around. Free...he had told Akira that bein’ around him made Ryuji feel free, and that’s what he feels now, no tethers or chains or restraints. No second-guessing thoughts, no blushes, no sick twists of the stomach, no guilt, no nothin’. Just the salty air and those eyes that taunt Ryuji as much as they ask him to meet him halfway. Akira was a cocky son of a bitch, always makin’ bets, but Ryuji had a feeling that the challenges were never the challenges he says they were. Sure, maybe Akira really did wanna race, but maybe he wanted to see someone puttin’ in as much effort as he was. Maybe he wanted to know someone cared as much as he did.

Ryuji understood that. He felt like he had the same desire, only instead of challenging people Ryuji just pushed ‘em away. Akira was the reason he figured out how to stop doing that. Ryuji hopes he can do the same thing his friend has done for him.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, Akira’s expectant face and offer still on the table. “You really gonna try to race the cripple?! Real fair,” Ryuji says, but he picks up his pace, legs moving quicker in a way that feels like second nature. Even on the sand Ryuji feels solid and strong, his bad leg learning these movements all over again, the careful practicing he’s been doing for months paying off. Akira turns back around with a loud “HA!”, also picking up his own pace. Dude’s form still sucks, but if Ryuji doesn’t really get moving, Akira’s gonna beat him.

“Cripple?!” Akira shouts over his shoulder, “I haven’t beaten you yet!”

Ryuji’s long legs get the better of Akira and soon the blond boy is waiting expectantly at the net, tossing the ball casually in his hands. Akira doesn’t arrive ten seconds after Ryuji, but Ryuji still yawns and tells Akira he's late. Akira playfully shoves Ryuji’s shoulder as he walks to his side of the net, game face on.

 

* * *

 

It takes half an hour for the boys to get so hot and sweaty they retreat back to their area, Ryuji commenting that he’s so tired he could take a nap. They realize with a sheepish start that they left their stuff totally unattended, but a quick glance shows that nothing has been taken.

“Geez,” Ryuji says, grabbing a towel out of his beg and wiping the sweat off his face, “Figured the girls woulda been back by now.”

Akira reaches and takes the towel from Ryuji’s hands and wipes down the sides of his neck, a movement that Ryuji watches carefully, hazy in the heat, tongue lazily licking the bottom of his lip. No thoughts come: just the visual of the towel dragging along Akira’s damp skin, the bend of Akira’s neck, the damp curls stuck on the skin. He swallows dryly.

“Yeah,” Akira agrees, handing the towel back to Ryuji with a light press on his chest, “Or at least Yusuke and Mona. Wonder where they are.”

Ryuji looks around but doesn’t see anything or anyone he recognizes. When he bends down to put the towel back, Akira gasps softly.

“‘Uji,” he says, the nickname coming so fast and easy that Ryuji almost doesn’t notice it (and, when he does, he bites his lip to keep from smiling), “I think you’re starting to burn.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah,” Akira says, leaning to press his fingertips into the reddened skin on Ryuji’s shoulder. When he pulls his hand away, his fingers leave little white prints that fade fast.

Ryuji looks over his shoulder trying to see. “Damn, I mean I pretty much wear only tanks in the summer so I figured I’d be fine. If anyone should be burning it’s you,” he says, looking at the soft white skin that covers Akira’s upper body. It’s flushed a light pink due to the heat but Ryuji can tell he’s not close to burning yet.

“Superior genes,” Akira says, going over to Ann’s bag and rifling through it. Ryuji rolls his eyes and stands, stretching his arms and shaking out his legs, a reflex after any physical activity. “Ah, here we go,” Akira says, pulling out the item he was looking for. Ryuji sees the sunscreen and sighs, reaching for it dutifully. Akira moves the bottle out of Ryuji’s reach.

“You may be flexible but we both know you can’t do your own back,” Akira points out, then motions to the towel Makoto had laid out earlier. “Lay down,” he instructs.

Ryuji starts to move towards it but then stops. “W-wait,” he stutters, “Lay down? Whatta ya mean ‘lay down’?”

“I’m not sure how much clearer I can be, Ryuji,” Akira deadpans. Ryuji wants to sock him.

“Can’t you just put it on me standing?”

“Weren’t you saying you could take a nap?” Akira raises his eyebrows expectantly, “So lay down.”

Ryuji frowns, looking between Akira and the towel. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to lay down in the sun and he’s got no problem with someone puttin’ sunscreen on him, but he’s got a sinking feeling that Akira’s intentions here aren’t totally innocent. He’s been extra...well, extra today and Ryuji’s noticed how Akira seems like his body’s buzzin’. It’s a big enough change from his usual calm, slinking movements that Ryuji knows something is up.

“Don’t try to pull nothin’,” he warns and points a finger in Akira’s face. Akira tosses the sunscreen towards the towel and holds up his hands in mock innocence.

“Got nothing up my sleeve,” he says, eyes wide and puppy-dog like. This makes Ryuji want to punch him more, but instead he just grumbles and gets down on the towel.

As soon as Ryuji is on his stomach, Akira’s on him like bark on a tree. He plops down excitedly on top of Ryuji’s ass (and oh! How he bounces!) so naturally and immediately Ryuji’s pushing himself up off the ground and whipping his head to protest. He knew, he effin’ _knew_ it was gonna be some shit.

“Dude!” he says, and his eyes dart around at the people, “Get offa me! Someone’s gonna think we’re datin’!”

“Oh please,” Akira says, pushing down between Ryuji’s shoulder blades, which causes him to fall back to the ground with a grunt, “No one is paying us any attention. Besides,” and now his hand, still in contact with Ryuji’s skin, travels lightly back and forth, fingers dancing, “You’re _hot._ ” A single finger presses down on the trapped heat of the reddened skin, “And as leader of the Phantom Thieves I have to protect my team…”

Ryuji, who’d been squirming the entire time, freezes immediately at the word “hot.” He knows Akira means his _skin_ is hot--he has to mean that, he absolutely has to, Ryuji can’t handle any double meanings right now--but the words send ice through his body. Everything in him goes cold and numb except for that space between his shoulder blades where Akira’s fingers are tapping away. The split second fingertip meets skin is the only place Ryuji feels and it’s like a branding: hot, scorching, sweating, such contrast from the way the rest of him feels, sole attention on such a minute area, no room to feel the towel or the sun or the knees on either side of his hips. No room to think or wonder or consider or obsess. Just the fingertips. Just the ice and heat.

“Now, where _is_ that sunscreen?” Akira pouts, hands on his hips, before he spots it sticking out of the sand near Ryuji’s head. Ryuji sees it at the same moment and goes to reach for it, but Akira’s movements freeze him a second time. “Ah, there it is,” Akira says.

He bends forward, hinging at the hips so they slide ever so slightly back, chest lowering down until it nearly touches Ryuji’s bare back. His right hand slides slowly, casually up and over Ryuji’s shoulder before pressing into the sand for support as he leans, his left swinging wide for the bottle. He bows his head, noticing the way Ryuji’s frozen and stiff, and whispers, “I’ve got you, vulgar boy, relax.”

But see, whether or not Akira’s got him ain’t the problem. The problem is that bathing suits are thin, alright, and they’re roomy cause there isn’t any underwear happenin’ in there, unless of course you wear compression shorts but Akira isn’t and Ryuji knows Akira isn’t cause of the way Akira slides back and he’s already stradlin’ him so Ryuji’s ass gets a _real good feel_ of what Akira’s packin’ in that bathing suit and then there’s a hand and it sears the skin the whole way up and then the breath brushin’ over his ear and he shivers and gets goosebumps and he can still feel Akira effin’ pressed against him and Akira wants him to goddamn _relax?_ Just _relax bro_ it’s only your best bro pressed on top of you and both of you are shirtless and you can feel how close his chest is to your back and sure _just relax bro_ because it’s definitely _not_ turning you on or anythin’, whispers don’t get you goin’ and bein’ called “vulgar boy” doesn’t get you goin’ and guys _certainly_ don’t get you goin’ and yeah okay there’s an uncomfortable “pressure” against the sand and between the hips and maybe you’re glad the sunburn was on your back and not your chest because then you’d have a _real_ problem not an effin’ _relaxing_ problem and this wasn’t subtle, Akira’s never subtle, but this was more than not subtle this was a deliberate taunt, a push, a tease, a goddamn forest fire burnin’ up everything except for that moment where you’re both just still, and waitin’, and wishing without wishing, and sayin’ what you ain’t said yet, and goddamn it-- _just relax my ass, man._

 

 _I_ like _you._

_How’s a dude supposed to relax about that?_

 

But before Ryuji can complete his meltdown, Akira’s sitting back up (Ryuji grits his teeth hard when he feels Akira slide again) and squirting the sunscreen into his hands. He rubs them together lightly then gently moves across Ryuji’s back. His mind thinks back to fingerpainting with Yusuke and the thought makes him smile to himself: different position, different medium, different subject, same sort of beauty. Where Yusuke is open and unashamed, Ryuji is closed off, secret--Akira can’t see any reaction beyond the goosebumps that rose over his skin when Akira whispered in his ear. Yusuke’s reactions were like a movie playing before Akira’s eyes, desperation writhing and clutching. Now Akira watches what seems to be restraint (though from anger or lust he can’t tell) with no hint of need or even want...and yet, Akira can almost feel it radiate off Ryuji’s body like the heat under his hands. Ryuji takes a deep breath and seems to melt. He shudders as he exhales--yes, same beauty indeed.

Truth be told he wasn’t entirely sure Ryuji _was_ sunburnt, but he figured Ann had brought some and thought he might be able to work a sunburn angle into touching Ryuji. He was surprised he had gotten this far, was sure Ryuji would’ve shoved him into the sand for sitting right on his butt like he had shoved Yusuke. Maybe Ryuji was weaker to Akira. Lots of maybe’s, but only one for sure: Akira thought sunscreen made a good substitute for massage lotion.

And he’s right, Ryuji _does_ melt into Akira’s touch, that heat taking the ice away with each tough knot loosened. Ryuji used to get regular massages when he was on the track team--runnin’ always made you so tight, and you could only stretch so much. He hasn’t gotten one in a while, though, and he’s realizing that all their work fightin’ Shadows makes for similar muscle tightness. Come to think of it, Akira’s strangely good at this, heel of hand pressing deep into that lat muscle. Ryuji chokes back a groan; the massage itself feels good, then add in Akira and his hands and it’s just all gone to shit. Ryuji tries to ignore how uncomfortable the pressure’s gotten, but it’s hard. _Literally,_ he thinks with a snicker, immediately followed by an embarrassed huff.

“Something wrong?” Akira asks, hearing the little breathy noises Ryuji’s making.

“N-no,” he squeaks out in reply. His cheeks flush and he clears his throat. “No,” stated more firmly this time.

He wonders if he should acknowledge that this is clearly not just putting sunscreen on a potential burn. If he does that though, he’s gotta acknowledge what he was thinkin’ when he was losin’ his effin’ mind. Nah, no time for that. Not right now. Right now it feels nice to be touched with kindness; something Ryuji doesn’t get very often.

 

“There,” Akira whispers after way too long a time, “Should be rubbed in good now.” He manages to get off Ryuji gracefully despite their positioning, but Ryuji doesn’t stir. Did he put him to sleep?

“Thanks,” Ryuji mumbles, face in the towel.

“You wanna go for a swim?”

It’d be nice to cool off, but: “No.”

Akira frowns at the still unmoving shape of Ryuji’s body. A flash of color catches his eye and he turns to see Ann and Makoto walking towards them, Makoto dripping wet but Ann dry as the sun.

Ann arrives with a spring in her step. “Pushed her in,” she says proudly. Makoto smiles.

“Let her,” she informs, “Where’s-” Makoto starts, looking around, but then Ryuji’s hair gets her attention and she looks down. Her brows furrow in concern. “I-is he okay?”

Akira shrugs, “I think so? Ryuji, you alright?”

“Yep.”

“You sure?” Ann asks.

“Definitely.”

Ann looks up at Akira and before she can even begin Akira knows what she’s going to say. “What’d you do?” she demands.

Akira smirks. “Nothing, promise. He was getting burnt so I put on some sunscreen, that’s all.”

She squints at him, his smirk telling her that’s not all there is to the story, but suddenly Yusuke comes running up to them, two bright red objects in his hands. Her head cocks to the side. Are those--

“Lobsters!” He announces, thrusting them into their circle. Ryuji doesn’t even bother turning his head--he knows full well Yusuke likely isn’t exaggerating. Dude’s prolly got two lobsters in his hand.

And indeed, it seems he does. “Are they not magnificent?!”

“Didn’t you call me magnificent once? Are you saying lobsters are on the same level as I am?” Akira asks, crossing his arms across his chest. He’s only joking, but Yusuke nods enthusiastically.

“Yes! Such exquisite bodies! And red: a great color on both!”

Akira chuckles as Ann reaches out quickly to grab Yusuke’s wrist.

“Hey!” she says, shaking his wrist lightly, “One of these lobsters is wearing Morgana’s bathing suit! What'd you do with him?”

“Oh, I left him in the ocean,” Yusuke states plainly. "I thought the bathing suit looked better on the lobster."

“You what?!”

“He wanted water; I provided the means to get there. Once there I noticed the colorful shells in the water and set about collecting some, but I abandoned that too once I noticed these creatures!” He holds them up again excitedly, clearly expecting the team to be as enthused as he is.

Instead Makoto’s head whips around, eyes sharp for the shape of a cat. “Yusuke, I don’t think cats can swim!”

“It shouldn’t be a problem if he is truly human after all,” Yusuke muses, “But, speaking of problems,” and he points to Ryuji, “What is happening here?”

“We’re not sure,” Akira answers, “He won’t move.”

“Who won’t move?” They hear, and all turn to see a sad excuse for a cat, wet and covered in sand, crawling up to them. He looks pissed but concerned; well, until he sees they’re talking about Ryuji, and then he goes back to looking pissed. Ann gathers him in her arms and wraps him in a towel, which is the only solace to his terribly damp afternoon.

“‘M fine,” Ryuji responds, hand waving in the air briefly before falling back at his side. “Glad we all picked right now to come back together and hang out as a group,” he says, but there’s sarcasm in his voice and Akira is struck with a thought. He grins wildly.

“Hey! We should all play volleyball as a team! Ryuji,” he says, kicking at Ryuji’s limp feet, “Wouldn’t you like that? It was your idea when we got here!”

“Yep, definitely, you all should go. I’ll stay here. Watch stuff. Maybe nap.”

Makoto bites her lip, growing seriously concerned. Could this be heat stroke? “Ryuji, you love sports. Why wouldn’t you want to come?”

“Can't,” is the only reply. They go on like this for a while, each Thief trying to get Ryuji to get up, and each time Ryuji shoots them down, and each time Ryuji shoots them down Akira says something that invalidates Ryuji’s excuse, then the whole cycle starts all over again. Finally Ann suggests they just leave the boy alone and go play themselves.

Yusuke bends down and gently leaves the lobsters near Ryuji’s head, imploring him to watch over them carefully “as if they were your sons,” and, yep, Ryuji was right about them bein' real, but Ryuji feels so grateful when they all finally walk away. He imagines he’ll be here a while.

“Since when do I get _excited_ over a boy?" he groans to the lobsters.

(They don't reply)

 

* * *

 

“What was his issue?” Yusuke asks Akira on their way over to the nets. He asks it low, like he thinks it might have something to do with their ministrations and doesn't want the others to hear. Akira’s eyes are shining with mischief.

“Don’t know, it just must’ve been too hard for him to leave that spot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW finally got all my thieves together in one place!!!! i've always enjoyed the idea of Makoto and Ann so I just tossed that in there, figured they should all be gay and lovin' each other amirite. I like the idea that casual PT conversations are a bit of a mess, but also I suck at dialogue so maybe I'm just excusing my bad writing lololol
> 
> Shoutout to Ryuji for letting his dick lead him to the beginning of his awakening. trust ur instincts bro.


	7. The Storm Stirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji heads to Mementos to let off some steam and quickly learns he's not the only one who had the idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before i begin lemme just beg y'all for some forgiveness lmao  
> this is BEYOND overdue, i owe like 8 chapters in the time it's taken me to finish this one, but there's a couple reasons for it:
> 
> 1\. HIT A WALL. a big wall. i knew how i wanted this one to start and fuckin' had no idea how to end it. (it's probably obvious ugh sorry!!!!)  
> 2\. i work 45-50 hours a week!!!! i'm a v busy girl and i write as often as i can but it's hard when...  
> 3\. boyfriend needs a lot of attention or things go south p quickly, so that is a big time occupier as well.
> 
> ALL OF THAT SAID: my apology remains bc aslkfjkle FUCK i love these boys so much i want to write this for me (and for u) so pls pls pls forgive me
> 
> ~~~
> 
> real stuff: there be voyeurism in these there hills. if that makes you uncomfortable but you still wanna read the rest, it all happens ABOVE the first linebreak. after that it's referenced but not explicit!

This was stupid.

Very stupid.

He’d probably die.

Or end up maimed.

S’not his fault, though.

Ann was supposed to come with but she bailed, and okay, he could’ve abandoned the trip then and not gone on alone like an idiot, but look: he had very few options to let all his frustration out. And effin’ hell was he frustrated. Akira was driving him absolutely insane. He was his best bro, for sure, but Akira was annoying as hell lately, especially over the past week. He just kept...touchin’ ‘im! Hands on Ryuji all the time! A pat on the back in the palace after a well-timed hit, which could be considered casual under normal circumstances, but Akira always ran his fingers from one shoulder blade to the other afterwards, glove tappin’ the steel plates near his spine. Or there was Akira sittin’ in Mona during a Mementos grind, stretched out in the backseat, hand snakin’ into Ryuji’s hair whenever he tried to lay back to rest (Ryuji’s had a stiff back for 3 days now). S’like the beach trip happened and now Akira just liked watchin’ Ryuji squirm. And no matter how many times Ryuji wanted to just punch him in the gut, somethin’ always sparked inside that kept him from doin’ it. Somethin’ warm.

 

_Ugh._

 

Turns out he might like Akira. _Might._ Maybe. It’s an effin’ nightmare.

But he digresses: he had very few options. Like less than five. He could either: 1) punch something, 2) talk to someone, or 3) jack off. Jacking off was _not_ an option, not at all, not after the beach trip and not where his mind kept freakin’ _wandering_ during all previous attempts. He was trying to do options 1 and 2 this afternoon, but a crucial part of number 2 apparently had better things to do with Makoto (Ryuji really didn’t understand how what she had going on was more important than the mess that was inside his head but _whatever)_.

So here he was, attempting option 1.

Alone.

In Mementos.

To be fair, he tried to avoid Mementos by going to the gym. He tried runnin’ himself silly but he had more energy and stamina than he realized, so he went over to the punching bags. Unfortunately that just didn’t have the same amount of satisfaction as knockin’ down Shadows.

He enters the station and the chill that runs down his spine is almost enough for him to turn around. Yep, this was very stupid. But Ryuji ain’t nothin’ if he’s not stubborn, so he cracks his neck, his knuckles, and gives a hard tug on his kerchief like it’s a kick in the ass to get down the steps.

Ryuji takes them fast, ignoring the intruding thoughts that without Mona he’s up a creek without a quick getaway, that if he comes across a Shadow with Garu he’s royally fucked, that if he gets knocked down without a teammate for support or healing he’s probably gonna die. Yeah, definitely ignoring those thoughts. He’s just here to punch shit.

He resolves to stay on the top few floors just in case, though.

He makes it to the bottom of the stairs, nervous energy running through his body. He bobs from foot to foot, hyping himself up, and then lunges forward. No more wastin’ time.

As he sprints through Mementos, though, he finds the floor void of Shadows. It makes him uneasy. They usually can’t move more than a few feet before a Shadow pops up, so the fact he can’t find _any_ is unusual. As he runs, he drags his pipe along the walls, letting it clank like an announcement of his arrival. C’m _on._ Was the universe just hell bent on keeping him frustrated?

He hears a whoosing sound behind him and flips quickly, watching the Shadow burst up from the ground. Finally. The Shadow’s facing the other way, thank god, so with all the power he’s got Ryuji swings his pipe down hard on the Shadow’s shoulder.

The battle is harder than he expected, what with it being the first floor. He gets a cut across his cheekbone, just under his mask, and he’ll definitely have a bruise on his chest for a week, but the beatdown he gave the Shadow makes him feel better.

“Effin’ Akira!” he had screamed on first hit.

“Stop effin’ _flirting,”_ he had grunted when the Shadow knocked him on his back, blow to the chest.

“Eff those eyes,” he said with a swing, “and that hair,” on the return pull, “and those hands,” one more swing forward, “and that voic-”

But then the Shadow had lashed out at his face and he barely dodged the blow, earning him the cut that currently stung on his face. That had just pissed him off more, so he jumped up and took one more swing right on top of the Shadow’s head and watched it crumple to the ground.

He uses his necktie to pat the cut on his cheek and looks at it, inspecting for blood. As soon as he does, though, he huffs and for the first time is thankful he’s alone. His necktie is red. Blood is red. Goddammit.

Ryuji goes back to walkin’ around Mementos, searching for Shadows, but again there’s a weird silence on the floor. Maybe the Thieves now were so deep in Mementos Shadows no longer appeared here?

Nah, that’ can’t be it. A Shadow just _did_ appear. Something was wrong--but what? He pulls out his phone to text the group, let them know something weird was happening in Mementos, but remembers with a pause that cell phones don’t work in the metaverse. Also they’d probably yell at him for being there alone. He pockets it with a sigh.

He roams around for what feels like hours (but in reality is only twenty minutes), mumbling to himself about Akira’s apparent need to mess with him, before he hears another noise. _Shit, took long enough._ The noise comes from up ahead and it sounds a little off, not really a sound Ryuji is familiar with, but new Shadows are appearing every day so why not.

He jogs softly down a corridor and waits, fork in the road, before he hears the noise again. It sounds like a scrape, like a weird warped version of nails raking down a wall. Ryuji can’t place it but his jogs towards it again, a little slower this time, ears alert and eyes wild.

When he turns the corner, he’s surprised to find nothing. Just nothin’. Empty space and silence. It’s hella eerie, he thinks, like something that’s supposed to be happening is stubbornly refusing to. The air feels heavy.

Then: a new noise. It sorta sounds like a voice and Ryuji wonders if the Mementos Shadows talk to each other. He figured they didn’t since they don’t really have a common unitin’ force like guard Shadows do, but hell, maybe they got shit to talk about. Ryuji knows he’d go crazy bein’ down here all the time.

He approaches a hall and hears the noise again, more like a breath, and he flattens himself against it before walking into the open. Right, okay, fight number two. What would he get out this time? He remembers the feel of Akira sliding his body over his own at the beach and grits his teeth, face hot with what he wants to be anger but is instead embarrassment and...eff it, a little turned on.

Deep breath: in, out, check, then lunge. 1..2…..

He peeks his head around the corner just to make sure the Shadow isn’t facing him, but what he sees almost causes him to fall forward. It takes a while for his brain to register the image as a whole, instead taking in little snippets gradually. It goes like this: 

  * Red hands
  * No, gloves?
  * Open jacket, zipper with keyring shining bright above a dark backdrop
  * Not backdrop
  * Thigh
  * It’s a person
  * It’s two, actually
  * A vest
  * _Arms, nice arms, holy shit_
  * Mess of hair
  * White mask on the ground, cat shaped
  * Nope, fox shaped



 

And then it hits him all at once, brain registering the scene before him. Yusuke’s pressed against the wall, jacket open, revealing his long, slender body. Akira’s got his jacket off and Ryuji never noticed that under his jacket he wore just the vest, no shirt or anythin’--hadn’t considered anything else, but now that he’s seen it, he knows he’s never gonna goddamn forget it _._ Yusuke’s mask is on the ground, like it was tossed aside without a care, but Ryuji happens to notice Akira’s mask is still fixed to his face. Then Akira’s face is disappearing into the side of Yusuke’s neck and there’s a sound from Yusuke, soft but desperate.

The red of Akira’s gloves catches Ryuji’s eye and he follows it, the way it rakes down Yusuke’s chest (so pale in contrast). It just keeps going, going and going and going and then it disappears from view, slipping into Yusuke’s pants and

 

_Holy god._

 

He lurches back and slams himself against the wall, hopin’ and wishin’ it’ll absorb him because disappearing, falling into nothingness would be better than this. Ryuji hates it: hates the way he’s gripping the wall, sweat on his forehead, everything suddenly hot and itchy because he wants to look again. He effin’ wants to look at the two of them again.

Goddamit. God-effin’-dammit. Fuck. Shit. _Why Akira, why this, why now, not gay, not gay at all, but_ Akira _is so, so-_

Ryuji takes a deep breath. Steels himself. This is why he was in Mementos in the first place right? Not to watch them of course (and holy shit did they do this often? How many times do they come to Mementos to hook up?) but to figure out the effin’ overwhelming amount of shit in his brain. Any time he thinks about Yusuke and Akira together he gets these _thoughts_ that he frantically pushes away--but what if he welcomed them? What if he let himself think about ‘em and maybe he’ll find he doesn’t like it? Boom: problem solved.

Course if he _does_ like it…

As Ryuji thinks this over, he hears the faint sound of panting from beyond the wall. His body flushes hot and he hurriedly loosens the knot near his throat, desperate for some cool air to touch his burning skin. It doesn’t help when he realizes he can effin’ hear them _talking_ and they’re definitely not chattin’ about the weather.

“Cleared the whole floor so we could be alone,” Ryuji hears. Akira, his voice dark and twisty. Ryuji’s body hums in reaction. “But we both know Shadows don’t stay down forever.”

Somethin’ that sounds like a moan. Ryuji squeezes his eyes shut.

“So I’m going to fuck you, Yusuke, right here. And if a Shadow comes, I’m _still_ going to fuck you. I’ll let Arsene handle it. I’ll fight it off with one hand if I need to. But one thing’s for sure: I’m gonna fuck you, and I’m going to keep fucking you.”

Ryuji has no idea if the whine he hears comes from his throat or Yusuke’s, but it reverberates off the empty Mementos walls. So Akira was a dirty talker--Ryuji ain’t necessarily surprised, but to actually hear it is something else entirely. His willpower’s shot; he knows that, is man enough to admit that. Ryuji liked to think of himself as strong, having weathered more than a fair share of crappy shit from his life, but right now he feels like he’s been Garu’d ten times over. A soft shake takes over his body as he peeks back around the wall, eyes indulging his darkest desire.

Yusuke’s head is pressed against the wall, his back arched away from it. His pants are--Ryuji swallows dryly--now around his ankles, green and white sash in a heap on the floor, but his jacket remains on his shoulders. His chest is colored with pink lines from Akira’s leathered hands. Akira’s left hand is on Yusuke’s hip and blocking what his right hand is doing between their bodies, but Ryuji can take a pretty good guess and he feels like he’s gonna faint, fall down right there on the Mementos floor and _goddamn_ it’s hot. He loosens the red tie just a little bit more and rips it off his neck, pushing mask to the top of his head as he discards the piece of fabric on the ground.

Yusuke’s hands grip Akira’s shoulders tightly, light blue drawing Ryuji’s focus. The hands move from shoulders into hair, getting tangled, and Ryuji lets himself admit he’s jealous. Hard not to be when Akira’s hair looks so soft and--

Akira gasps. Ryuji’s eyes widen; somethin’s up, somethin’s changed. A shiver runs through Akira’s body. Ryuji’s knees grow weak at the sight of Yusuke’s expression: lost, spent, but his open mouth is growing into a sinful grin. Now that’s something he definitely wasn’t expecting.

“You forget,” Yusuke pants out, “that I know how to unravel you too.” Suddenly Akira’s head snaps backward and it’s like the movement pushes out a groan Akira’s been holdin’ in his throat. Ryuji’s own head tips backwards, teeth grinding in favor of releasing his own noises, and it is with bitter irritation that he realizes his pants are getting tighter.

 _Shit._ Fine. This was hot. But like, was there any other reaction to have? Who could watch this without gettin’ hard?

His fingers squeeze the corner of the wall harder as he watches Yusuke take this opportunity to lean forward and attach his mouth to Akira’s neck. Akira’s getting all breathy now, practically panting as Yusuke’s mouth works across his throat. Ryuji shoves his fist in his mouth when Yusuke sticks his tongue out and licks from the neckline of Akira’s vest to behind his ear, the gleam of his tongue and then the trail of moisture that shines on Akira’s neck doing things to Ryuji he didn’t know were possible.

His teeth bite hard on the steel plates that cover his knuckles.

Akira’s left hand rises to shove Yusuke’s shoulder back into the wall and now it’s exposed, it’s all there for Ryuji to see, red hand moving swiftly over Yusuke’s dick, thumb swiping at the head. Ryuji looks a beat longer than he means to, jaw dropping slightly, hand falling, a thousand thoughts he can barely make out. His cheeks burn: Akira seems skilled, swift, actions absentminded in that they know what they’re doing; Yusuke, thin hips, hipbones evident, and he’s longer than Ryuji thought he’d b-

Ryuji looks away quickly, embarrassed, acutely aware that he’s witnessing something private. That he should absolutely leave, let them do what they want to do alone.

And yet: he can’t. Ryuji’s feet are heavy, knees locked, cemented in place. He is equal parts distressed and content, wanting to run and yet feeling an overwhelming desire to stay. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t’ve come to Mementos, it was doomed from the start. It was a stupid, dangerous plan for reasons he couldn’t anticipate, for reasons he saw before him now. Guilt washes over him, almost drowning him, but then Akira makes a sound like a growl and the wave of pleasure that comes chases the guilt away, leaving Ryuji breathing heavily and almost sick with desire.

“That’s not fair,” Akira spits back, drawing Ryuji back to the moment before him. Akira brings his right hand up to his mouth and _oh god almighty_ licks his gloved palm and wraps his hand around Yusuke again. Ryuji punches the wall in sexual frustration and immediately freezes, waitin’ for them to turn around, but they don’t hear it. He breathes a sigh of relief only to have the relief disappear as his cock throbs inside his pants, a pointed reminder that he has _things_ to take care of.

Yusuke shudders under the added slickness of Akira’s hand. His hands move from Akira’s hair to his own, scratching at his scalp, then rubbing over his face. Frustration is evident: _same dude,_ Ryuji thinks.

“I wonder how you intend- _mmm-_ intend to f-fuck me without proper-- _ah_ \--lubrication,” Yusuke forces out from clenched teeth. Ryuji smiles slightly to himself, both surprised and not surprised at all to hear Yusuke challenge Akira. He distantly remembers wondering what they were like together.

Akira suddenly stops and flips Yusuke, pushing up behind him, Yusuke’s chest presses flush against the wall. He leans forward and licks the shell of Yusuke’s ear-- _goddammit,_ Ryuji can’t keep the quiet moan from escaping out of his mouth. Yusuke lets out a noise of surprise, hands coming up to balance himself, Akira pulling Yusuke’s hips back into him. Yusuke visibly shudders as his bare ass presses against Akira. Ryuji doesn’t have to guess what he feels there and Ryuji finds himself shuddering too.

“Who said I don’t have proper lubrication?” Akira’s voice is dark, so dark and evil, and Ryuji feels it flow through his body again. His mind betrays him, launching into a thousand fantasies of Akira saying things to _him_ in that voice, wicked things that Ryuji wishes so much he could stop but they just keep coming, visions of Akira above him, before him, below him, behind him, always smirking, gray eyes turned red with desire for _Ryuji._

Ryuji can’t resist, can’t hold back anymore, and with a choked sob he presses the heel of his hand to the pressure in his pants. He rolls his hips slowly into it, eyes fluttering shut.

He hears the pop of something, like a bottle, but is too lost to care now, imagining Akira’s got him pressed against the wall of Mementos, imagining those gloves on his own hipbones.

 _Fine_ , he thinks bitterly, _Fine, shit. I like him. I_ want _him._

The voices of Akira and Yusuke in a mixed groan travels down the halls, filling Mementos with the intoxicating sound. Ryuji’s hand grinds harder against him, knowing the sound will live forever in his memory, will come out to play later when he’s alone, in his room, pants discarded.

Ryuji knows what he’ll see when he opens his eyes. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for it.

He opens them anyway.

Yusuke’s face is now pressed into the wall, bent so far forward, jacket covering everything except his lower back and ass. Akira’s bent over him, one hand on the wall to brace himself, the other on Yusuke waist, holding his body in place. His body slaps into Yusuke roughly, sweat dripping into the neck of his vest, pants still on but obviously unbuttoned. Yusuke’s mouth is open, panting, letting out stuttered moans every few seconds. Akira’s quieter now, head falling back, sighing with content.

The sight is obscene in every way, Ryuji’s vision blurring at the edges as he loses focus, hips and hand working together, softly and quietly panting. He should _really_ look away. He should. This is too much, way too much for him, but he can’t stop, eyes fixed on the pair before him.

The snap of Akira’s hips. The look on Yusuke’s face. The noises, so many noises, of Yusuke and Akira and bodies. Ryuji loses his mind again, any semblance of control he thought he still had gone in an instant.

“Akira,” he whispers, voice shaky, verbally acknowledging the way his body surges, the way his heart swells. He blushes furiously at the reaction his cock has, somehow harder than ever before. Shit. He’s in trouble, absolutely.

Then, suddenly, a noise like a whoosh and a firecracker at once. Ryuji’s heart simultaneously sinks and speeds up: now he’s _really_ in trouble. His head snaps to his left where he sees it, big and towering, rising from the ground like a twisted zombie. It’s in the opening of the hallway, hasn’t noticed Ryuji yet, but it sure has hell has noticed the two Phantom Thieves engaged in lewd activities. The Shadow saunters forward.

“A-Akira,” Yusuke stammers, attempting to crawl up the wall, but Akira moves his hand over Yusuke’s and grips it tightly.

“What did I say?” he asks, voice full of pride, too full of it, Ryuji thinks, much too full. His own hand stills over his painful erection as he watches the Shadow inch closer. Akira’s gonna get himself killed. Him _and_ Yusuke.

“Akira, now is not the time fo-” Yusuke says sharply, before Akira reaches around to his front. Ryuji can’t see it at this angle but the choked moan that comes from Yusuke tells him enough.

“I said I was going to fuck you,” hips hitting on each syllable, Yusuke jutting forward now that the stabilizing hand was working his cock, “No matter what happened.”

Ryuji’s heartbeat quickens even more and he genuinely doesn’t know if it’s because of Akira and Yusuke or the proximity of the Shadow.

The Shadow picks up pace now, moving quicker towards them, and though his face is pulled into pleasure, Ryuji can see a hint of fear in Yusuke’s eyes. Akira hasn’t even bothered to turn and look at the Shadow, smirking down at the boy before him. Ryuji’s face flushes with irritation and lust; the way Akira seems so casual is mind-blowingly ridiculous, stupid, and sexy. His eyes dart from the couple to the Shadow a few times, willing them to hurry, to just come and get it over with so they can run. Akira doesn’t rush, though, tugging at Yusuke and slamming his hips almost slower than before. Ryuji runs his hands through his hair with disbelief. Is Akira _nuts?_

The Shadow lets out a weird noise, something like sounds like a chuckle, and breaks into a run. Ryuji can’t help himself: he bends to pick up the pipe he’d laid on the ground and grips it tightly.

“Hey Shadow!” he screams, running forward, throwing care to the wind, knowing he’s going to be in _so much trouble_. Akira’s groan turns to a noise of surprise as he comes, pulling out of Yusuke and painting his backside. His head turns to see Ryuji running towards the Shadow from behind, pipe above his head. Yusuke’s body goes rigid and he comes a second later, but he’s unable to fully enjoy the feeling as confusion washes over him.

“Get away from my friends!” Ryuji says, leaping forward and swinging the pipe down. He knows he’s about to engage a fight he probably can’t win alone, but death would be a good idea right about now. However, when the pipe comes down, Ryuji feels the Shadow sink down, down, down until it’s collapsed in a heap. It doesn’t even transform, just lays there like all its bones are broken, before disappearing in a flash.

There is a moment, a terrible, frightening moment, where Ryuji stands above the now-empty space, eyes searching for what he was prepared to fight, fully aware that Akira and Yusuke are staring at him. It just disappeared--died--with one hit. Can he do that? He didn’t know he could do that. Ryuji wants to be happy, be proud and ask if they saw it, but his stomach is twisting again. He thought he was over this feeling, but standing before them, he realizes just how deep in it he is now. He knows he has to meet their gaze but he can’t, he really can’t, he wishes someone would come along and one-hit him like he just did the Shadow.

Ryuji grits his teeth. He can’t look at them. His whole body grows hot with shame.

“R-Ryuji?” Yusuke stutters, voice more shocked than Ryuji had ever heard it, not even when he discovered the truth about Madarame. In the back of his mind it registers that neither Yusuke or Akira are attempting to cover themselves up, Yusuke still bent over in front of Akira.

Ryuji goes to anxiously pull on his necktie only to remember he’s discarded it in the other hall. The scent in the air must be sex, Ryuji thinks, a mixture of sweat and cum and something sweet. Their surprise is evident, a heavy presence around them. Ryuji realizes Akira hasn’t spoken, probably annoyed or disgusted.

He forces himself to look up and immediately meets Akira’s eyes: wide and confused, no disgust, just questioning, head cocked to the side like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing. There is no hardness in his gaze, which bothers Ryuji. He _should_ be mad.

Shoulda died earlier with the last Shadow. Could’ve avoided all this.

With a quick turn on his heel he effin’ bolts outta there, leaving the necktie behind, rounding corner after corner. He can hear Akira’s voice calling after him but he doesn’t stop, can’t stop, not now. The Shadows Yusuke and Akira had cleared out are starting to appear again, bursting from the ground, but Ryuji’s too fast to get caught. He eventually makes it to the stairs, sweat on his neck, breaths heavy but even. He takes the stairs two at a time and pulls out his phone, quick to get to the meta-nav and select going home. 

The world around him fizzles and it isn’t until he’s standing outside the station, the daylight causing him to squint, body shaking softly, that he lets himself relax. He counts slowly to five then jogs off in the direction of another station, knowing exactly where he needs to go.

 

* * *

 

 

Back in Mementos Yusuke absentmindedly pulls up his pants, using the sash that usually sits on his hips to wipe his back clean of Akira. Akira’s taken a few steps forward, arm still outstretched from when he called after Ryuji. Yusuke stands and winces, a bit sore, and looks over at Akira.

“Are you alright?” he asks with concern. Akira nods slowly but doesn’t turn. Yusuke’s thoughts travel to Ryuji: he’s not mad, of course, actually fairly touched Ryuji tried to rescue them. There’s no embarrassment about what Ryuji saw, not for Yusuke; a part of him actually enjoys being watched, or even better watching it himself. Perhaps one day he could watch Akira and Ryuji?

Akira shakes his head suddenly, out of his daze, and tucks himself back into his pants. He walks back and swipes his jacket off the ground, pulling it onto his shoulders. The whole time his expression is tight, almost pinched, like he’s in pain. Yusuke zips his own jacket back up, looking over the small scratches on his chest, then picks up his mask.

“How long do you think he was watching us?” Akira asks. Yusuke’s brow furrows as he contemplates, remembering Ryuji’s disheveled appearance, the flush that was already on his cheeks, the bulge in his pants.

“A while, I would think,” Yusuke responds, smiling again.

Akira sighs and runs a hand through his hair. A smile plays at his mouth but he forces it away, thinking deeper about the situation. “It’s not that I mind, of course, but I’m a little worried about what he’s going to do now,” Akira’s fist flexes at his side in frustration, “I should’ve chased after him.”

“Do you think he knew we were here?” asks Yusuke, but Akira shakes his head almost immediately.

“No, he was supposed to be with Ann, remember? That’s what he told me this morning. He must’ve had a reason for coming here...but that doesn’t make it much better. That means he came to Mementos alone.” Akira curses Ryuji for doing something so unsafe but then he remembers he came to Mementos purely to hook up with Yusuke (at Yusuke’s request, something about how much he liked Akira’s metaverse outfit) and he realizes he doesn’t have much ground to stand on.

Yusuke places a gentle hand on Akira’s shoulder, “Yes, that is a bit concerning, but he took out a Shadow in one hit. Clearly he can hold his own. I don’t think you should fault yourself for not going after him.” Both boys begin walking forward to the exit. “He can’t run forever. This will have to be something he figures out alone.”

At the intersection of hallways Akira spots Ryuji’s discarded scarf, a bright red spot on the dark Mementos floor. He bends and picks it up, clutching it tightly in his hands before tucking it into his pocket. He still wants to go after Ryuji; he wants to run to him and hug him, or hold him, or just sit with him, but Akira knows Yusuke is right. At this point, Akira needed to wait for Ryuji to run to him. That _was_ part of the plan, after all, it just wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

The two run through Mementos, avoiding Shadows until they make it to the real world. Once outside and safe, Yusuke bends slightly and kisses Akira lightly on the cheek. Immediately color rises to Akira’s face, caught a bit off guard by the sudden gesture.

“Thank you, by the way,” Yusuke says, voice low, “I’m glad we took our first time slow yesterday, but the urgency of our second was...delightful.” He reaches and intertwines his fingers with Akira’s, squeezing softly. “Though I must say, I did not anticipate you baiting a Shadow. I wonder if we could leave imminent danger out of the equation next time?”

Akira glances at him from the corner of his eye, smirk on his face, “You saying you didn’t have faith in me?”

“In short, not particularly.”

Akira laughs and squeezes Yusuke’s hand back, the two walking towards a different station where they’ll part ways. The crowds pay little attention to them and their interlocked hands; not that it matters, not to them, but it feels nice to be seen and unseen at the same time. To feel intimately close while surrounded by a bunch of people. Akira’s heart sinks a bit when he thinks of Ryuji, wishing he could have him on the other hand, but these things take time. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ryuji button mashes the doorbell like he’s never button mashed before. He can hear the bell going off inside but can’t hear any footsteps yet, so he tries to press faster. He bounces from foot to foot, impatient, anxious. He gets so lost in pressing the doorbell that he jumps when the front door is yanked open.

“WHA--Ryuji?” Ann’s face, hot with anger changing fast to calm and confused. Ryuji just pushes past her into her house--he’s actually kind of surprised he found it without her help, having not been here in years, but it’d be hard not to remember the signature red front door. Judging by the silence inside Ryuji assumes Ann’s parents are traveling again: a good thing, he thinks, since he didn’t feel like dealin’ with small talk.

“Ryuji!” Ann scolds, turning and closing the door, “You can’t just barge into someone’s house!”

He ignores her, going into the kitchen and helping himself to a glass of water. Thankfully on his ride over here he calmed down a bit, no longer sprouting an erection, though he still felt particularly hot. The cool water calms him, chilling him from the inside out. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand once the glass is empty.

Ann comes stomping into the kitchen, hands on her hips, eyes expectant. Ryuji ignores her still, brushing past her to head towards the stairs. She makes a frustrated noise and follows.

“What are you doing here?!” she demands. Ryuji glances over his shoulder as he heads towards her room.

“Need to talk,” he says.

“I told you I’m busy today!”

He shakes his head like he’s not already aware of this, “S’important,” he says, counting the doors on his right until he gets to the third. Now _that’s_ something he really didn’t expect to remember; he hadn’t been to her room since her sixth grade birthday party when her mom asked him to go coax her out of her room after she’d run off, embarrassed by something he can’t recall now.

“Ryuji! Wait!” Ann calls, stomping up the stairs just as fast as he did. “S-seriously!”

He doesn’t, though, and twists the doorknob. He pushes open the door with his shoulder and is immediately met with the sight of Makoto, top half of her dress pushed off and hanging loosely around her waist. Her white shirt underneath is bunched just under her chest, revealing her smooth, pale stomach. She’s lounging on her back, book in her hands, one knee bent and moving back and forth lazily.

She turns to see Ryuji holding an empty glass, frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. She gasps and drops the book which lands with a dull thud on her chest. Her face flushes a thousand different reds as she sits up, pinning the book to her chest as if she weren’t wearing a shirt.

“What are you doing here?!” she says, voice high and squeaky. She surges up the bed, coming to lean against the headboard. Ann shows up a second later, appearing over Ryuji’s shoulders, face twisted in irritation. She gives Makoto a sympathetic look.

“Ryuji!” Ann stomps her foot, “I _said_ I was _busy!_ ”

Ryuji’s vocal chords finally start working again once the initial shock wears off. He spins on his heel and towers over Ann, yelling. “You kiddin’ me?! You ditched me in Mementos to _hook up?_ What is this, national get laid day?! First Akira, then you and Makoto...Jesus, guys.”

Ryuji walks to Ann’s desk chair and flops down dramatically, glancing sideways at the still-blushing Makoto, who’s hurriedly pulling her dress straps back over her shoulders. Ann moves to stand in front of him, arms crossed across her chest.

“What I do on my own time is none of your busi--wait, did you say Akira?” Her head cocks to the side with curiosity. Ryuji pauses and looks up at her, mouth open and breath taken to say something, but then he dissolves in a frustrated groan and rubs his face with his hands.

“S’bad, Ann, it’s real bad. He’s bad. I’m bad. It’s all shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ryuji’s eyes flick back and forth between Makoto and Ann, mouth pressed into a hard line. It dawns on Makoto and she laughs softly.

“I can leave, if you want,” she says. Clearly this is something he had only intended for Ann and even though she was looking forward to spending the afternoon with Ann (like...really looking forward to it), she understood this was important to Ryuji. He had little beads of sweat on his forehead and he looked a little worse for wear; she could take a back seat today.

Surprisingly though, Ryuji seems to actually consider it. It could be beneficial to hear Makoto’s opinion too, seeing as how she was pretty damn smart. She might not have had the biggest social life before the Phantom Thieves, but Ryuji got the sense that she knew how to read a room. Maybe her insight could help him just as much as the comfort he was looking for from Ann.

“N-no,” he swivels the chair towards Makoto, opening himself up. Her expression gets even softer now. “You can stay, I just--man, I dunno where to even start.”

His face suddenly colors red and he rubs at it again, his cheeks hot under his hands. Ann watches him carefully then turns to Makoto. Makoto shrugs and pats the open area in front of her, folding her legs beneath her like a pretzel.

“C’mon Ryuji,” Ann says, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of her desk chair, “Get on the bed, Makoto and I will be your shrinks for the day.”

“We charge a hefty price but it’s worth it,” Makoto giggles. Ryuji groans.

“This was a mistake,” he grumbles, but he lets Ann pull him up and over to the bed anyway. When he sits, he half falls against Makoto, who just opens her arms. He blushes when his head drops into her lap, but she swipes her fingers through his hair before he can adjust. The movement is kind and sweet so he’s immediately at ease; it soothes him, relaxes him, even just for a moment. At the end of the bed Ann grunts, lifting his splayed out legs and dropping them over the edge of the bed. His body jerks with the movement and he almost falls off if not for the way Makoto grips his shoulders. Ann sits and then pulls his legs back onto the bed, setting his legs over her lap. Ryuji thinks of how often he sits like this with Akira and a small shiver runs down his spine.

“There,” she says, “Now that we’re all settled...spill,” she demands.

Ryuji groans again. “Ugh, there’s nothin’ to spill! I just…” he trails, voice wavering and then falling silent. The girls wait patiently; Makoto goes back to running her fingers through his hair while Ann watches his expression carefully, looking for the little tells he has when something is bugging him. The corner of his mouth twitches and his forehead crinkles, effort spent on holding things in. She knows the look on his face well, but she knows better than to press right now. Ann’s been nudging him for a while now; it’s time to let him take a step forward on his own.

Finally, Ryuji sighs. “There’s a reason I asked you to come Shadow hunting in Mementos today,” he begins, voice quiet and small, eyes squeezing shut. Makoto’s face twists with concern.

“You were going to go Shadow hunting? Just the two of you?” her voice drips with something like parental authority and for a moment Ryuji could swear he’s having a heart to heart with his own mom. It sounds like the beginning of a lecture. The color in his cheeks drains when he considers what he has to say next.

“An’ I ended up, uh, goin’ alone…”

Makoto grips his hair tightly as she and Ryuji both yell “WHAT THE HELL” just a second apart: hers from the information, his from the pain.

“Ryuji!” Ann’s voice is admonishing, “Are you crazy?!”

“You could’ve died!” Makoto shouts, and while there’s concern in her voice too, it mainly scolds. “Y-you could’ve been hurt, or lost, or disabled, or-or...or dead,” and there is where her tone softens, fingers slowly releasing their tense grip on Ryuji’s hair. 

She mumbles a sorry and Ryuji rubs his hands over his head, massaging where her grip had been.

“Geez, Ryuji, if I had known you were going to go in alone…” Ann’s fingers squeeze Ryuji’s knee and he peers down the line of his body at her and notices how guilty she looks.

“S’okay, honestly, I’m not mad,” he says, hoping to calm the pained look on her face. Instead it just appears to deepen.

Ann snorts like he’s being ridiculous. “Of course you’re not mad, you’re never quite mad at us, but I should’ve at least been there for you.”

Ryuji’s touched by her care and his eyes flick back up to Makoto, who is blushing and refusing to meet his eyes. She feels partly responsible too, he realizes, and his heart grows a little warmer. In all of the craziness of the past week Ryuji forgot what it was like to just lay with someone and be honest. Well, actually, he’d done that plenty of times with Akira: all-day hangouts where, between video games and manga sessions, they just laid on the floor and talked. The two of them talked about anythin’, but recently they hadn’t been able to talk about everythin’. Ryuji’s twisting heart and violent flips of the stomach whenever Akira touched him or said something that could _definitely_ be taken another way...those weren’t exactly available topics. To be fair he sorta talked about them with Ann before, asking her if she thought Akira and Yusuke’s increasing PDA was as nauseating as he did, or asking her how she’d act if she liked a guy and comparing it to Akira’s behavior (for the record: not similar, at all, so it was an entirely unhelpful conversation). He hadn’t been able to be just _honest_ though, or to feel like he was in a space that was 100% safe. Akira still kinda was that for him, in every way except this one, so it’s with a dull sense of wonder and happiness that Ryuji realizes he could just let it all out with Ann and Makoto. They wouldn’t care.

“No, seriously guys, it’s okay. I’m fine, see?” he holds out his arms as evidence, gentle smile across his face.

“You didn’t _appear_ fine a moment ago,” Makoto frowns, and Ryuji’s face quickly mirrors hers in preparation for what he’s about to say.

“Well, okay, not _totally_ fine. Somethin’ happened in Mementos--nothing physically damaging!” he assures quickly, “but something I uh...I can’t really give details about. Basically I, um, I saw Akira and Yusuke.”

“Is _everyone_ crazy?! Why is _anyone_ going to Mementos alone?” Makoto shouts, “I’m having a talk with all of us next meeting,” she decides firmly. Ann and Ryuji see the look on her face and know better than to argue. She clears her throat, half-embarrassed, and nods for Ryuji to continue.

“Well, when I saw them I kinda just...I dunno. You know how it felt when you realized your Persona was there? And you had that mask on your face and you figured out that you were basically suffocatin’ under it?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Ann says, her tone encouraging him to go on, but Ryuji just shifts on the bed, his temples showing the evidence that his teeth are gritted.

The girls wait patiently again for Ryuji to continue. Makoto, who knows even less about the situation than Ann does, can feel the anxiety radiating off Ryuji’s body. She threads her fingers through his hair again in an attempt to comfort him, relax him. She can see there’s something storming deep in Ryuji’s heart and is willing to wait hours in silence if it means the storm will subside. Eventually her fingers rub slow circles on his temples until he finally stops clenching his jaw.

Time passes: could be hours, could be minutes. Ryuji isn’t sure. He knows he should just spit it out and get it over with, but every time he tries it’s like he chokes on the words. When he opens his mouth, he can only exhale a puff of air. His stomach won’t stop flipping and his whole body buzzes.

Unexpectedly, Akira’s voice filters through his head: _calm down, Ryuji._

Akira’d told him something like this a handful of times but it never came out like a scolding. It never sounded like a teacher who didn’t want to deal with him, or his mom when she was exhausted and Ryuji was being needlessly difficult, or someone who was just tired of him in general. Whenever Akira told Ryuji to calm down, he said it quietly, calmly, like he saw through the high energy and the impulsive anger to its roots: the anxiousness, the overwhelming feeling that Ryuji had lost control of everything. Akira wasn’t telling Ryuji to behave--he was telling Ryuji to take a breath, to let his voice wash over Ryuji’s nerves and settle them gently.

The memory works. Ryuji’s body loses its tension, his shoulders relaxing back into Makoto’s lap, his leg muscles no longer pressing hard against Ann, his face smoothing over. The hold he felt on his vocal chords loosens. _Leave it to Akira,_ he thinks with a bitter chuckle, _leave it to the problem to be the solution._

“Well,” he starts, voice still so quiet, “I feel kinda like that. Like I gotta rip it off all over again.”

“How so?” Makoto edges carefully.

Ryuji swallows, his throat dry, mind recalling everything he’d seen, everything he’d felt. _Just do it. Rip it off. Like a bandaid._ “I...um...I like him, I think.”

And once it’s out, once he’s said it, Ryuji’s body lights up from the inside out. When he discovered Captain Kidd, electricity ran through his body like power, like he was taking charge. This...this is different, but it’s similar too. Everything in him practically burns, but none of it hurts, all of it soothing, like the warmth of a fire on a cold night. His entire body flushes with heat. He doesn’t have to go any deeper than this, not right now; for now this will work, for now he will roll his shoulders and feel the weight tumble off. _Yeah, I like him. I like Akira. I like his hair, I like his eyes, I like the way he finds me after class, I like the way he encourages me, I like how he’s never abandoned me, I like his laugh, I even like that dumbass smirk._ He can’t stop the thoughts, the confessions, that flood his brain. He likes everything about Akira. He likes how Akira looked that first morning they met, rain falling over that mess of a head, how lost he was and how he looked to Ryuji for answers. Those tables had turned--and fast, too, Ryuji thinks with a laugh--but Akira still looked at Ryuji with wonder. Akira _valued_ Ryuji far above anyone else in Ryuji’s life (besides, perhaps, his mom).

The laugh bubbles up from deep in Ryuji’s stomach and it pours out of him, a mixture of joy and dread, so happy to feel free and so terrified of what it all means now. If he likes Akira; what now? What do you _do_ with that once it’s there? Does he wanna date Akira? Kiss ‘im? He thinks back to the moment he told Akira bein’ with him was like bein’ free...at the time Ryuji didn’t know it, but now it rushes through like a movie. He sees the way Akira made him feel--the way he _makes_ him feel--and it’s equal parts freedom and captivity. Being with Akira _was_ like being free, but lately it had also been like torment, like bein’ on the edge and just waitin’ to tip over and fall. None of it made sense, and yet it made all the sense in the world.

Ann joins in the laughter, her head thrown back, blonde hair swishing with the movement. It takes a few seconds for Makoto to join too, one part confused about what’s funny but another part happy to see Ryuji so void of tension and pain. He looks genuinely happy, a look he wears so well, and she imagines this must’ve been how he looked when he discovered his Persona. He’s let go of whatever second-mask he was living behind.

Then he groans and slaps a hand to his forehead, “Oh god, I might _like_ him, that stupid little shit.”

Ann’s laugh gets louder; Makoto’s trails off into a soft giggle.

“Ugh, this sucks. This sucks so much. He’s so _dumb,_ his dumb face and hair and weirdass comments like ‘you’re hot’ and shit.”

“Hold on, he said you were hot?!” Ann asks, still laughing.

Ryuji blushes harder, “I mean, not like that! Pretty sure he was just sayin’ my body felt hot…” he mumbles. He thinks back to the day at the beach, Akira’s hands on his skin, and then thinks to Akira’s hands on Yusuke earlier today. _Ah shit._ Admitting it may have helped in one area... _definitely_ not helping in another.

“Oh, so he was touching your body? And your body was hot?” Makoto asks, smirk on her face.

“Ugh, I regret telling you two anything. I’m leavin’,” he says, moving to get up but Makoto presses lightly on his shoulders.

“Now, now,” she says, still giggling, “We promise to behave.”

“I’m just glad you can admit it now,” Ann taps him on his knee, “Took you long enough.”

“W-what?! This is like, new information,” Ryuji counters, “I didn’t know it until today!”

“Well, _you_ might not have,” she snickers, “But I had a feeling. I seem to recall one afternoon at a buffet when you say he looked...cute, was it?” She sees the violent blush in his cheeks and pinches his toes between her fingers, wiggling them back and forth, “Aw, I’m just teasing, Ryuji! To make up for it I promise to be the best wingman you’ve ever had.”

“No, nonono,” he says, scrambling to stand up, dropping his feet to the floor and tearing himself out of Makoto’s hands, “You two keep your grubby little hands outta this,” he points a finger at Ann and Makoto, whose faces fall into serious expressions immediately. “I don’t plan on doing anything with this information. You better not either, got it?”

Makoto shifts her eyes towards Ann and catches her eye. When she looks back at Ryuji--and back at the finger in her face--she smiles.

“But what if we could help?”

“ _Nope._ ”

“Ryuji-”

“No!”

“But _why not,_ it’s not like they don’t have their own pla-”

“Be _cause_ I _said--_ wait, what?”

Ann’s and Ryuji’s mouths resemble perfect little ovals, their expressions exact copies.

Makoto’s jaw snaps shut so fast her teeth clink. “Nothing.”

“Makoto,” Ann warns, “I know that look. What do you mean ‘their own plan’?”

Ryuji’s finger gets closer to her face, closer to cheeks that are turning pink. “You are literally the worst liar, remember when you went ‘super spy’ on us and uh, _yeah_ , failed epically? You know we turned that into a game, right, like a really easy Where’s Waldo?”

She presses her lips together in a thin line, “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“The more you insist it’s nothing, the clearer it is that it’s _some_ thing,” Ann points out. There’s a beat, and then her mouth is twirling upwards into an evil grin. “Y’know, Ryuji,” she starts, voice high-pitched and dripping with false kindness, “I learned something this afternoon too.” She reaches over and drags a finger up Makoto’s leg to her thigh; Makoto watches this movement carefully, cheeks now pinker, but expression still pressed.

“I really don’t wanna know,” Ryuji deadpans, also watching her finger, but he’s leaning away like it’s dangerous, “Had enough of that shit today.”

Ann’s face falls and she gives him a pointed look, “No, I mean--ugh,” she huffs, “I was _trying_ to say I learned Makoto is ticklish.”

Makoto inhales sharply. Ryuji looks to the side and then back to Ann.

“Okay...?”

“And,” Ann grits her teeth, “when people are _ticklish_ , and you _tickle them_ , they can _tell you things._ ”

With that, Ann pounces on Makoto, who squeals and falls back against the bed. Ryuji has half a second to react, moving out of the way just in time to avoid getting taken down with her. Ann’s hands are fast at Makoto’s sides, Makoto’s laugh bubbling up from deep in her stomach. She’s pleading with Ann to stop--no, begging--but Ann’s relentless. She just keeps chanting “tell us, tell us!” Ryuji joins in the laughter and the chanting, watching Ann torture Makoto which Makoto desperately tries to get Ann’s hands off of her.

This moment: it’s easy. It’s effortless. It’s friends, it’s joy--Ryuji even starts to forget what they’re trying to get Makoto to admit.

And still, still, he finds himself wishing Akira were here. No matter how absolutely out of his mind he’s been feeling lately, Ryuji just wants to look up, lock with those dumb gray eyes, and feel at home again. Ann’s face is pure joy, Makoto’s face changing like a slideshow from happy to angry to laughing to annoyed, and a pang shoots through Ryuji’s chest. _They like each other,_ he thinks, and he’s seen similar expressions on Yusuke’s face when he looks at Akira--the pang goes through him again. Whenever the hell Ann and Makoto happened, it’s clear something is goin’ on now, and _shit,_ who did that leave now? Effin’ Morgana and Ryuji, destined to be alone? He’s happy for his friends, don’t get ‘im wrong, but man is he jealous. Of Ann, Makoto, Yusuke...all of them.

Part of him wants to go back, back to when it was the beginning and it was easy. No other thieves, no conflicting feelings, just Akira and Ryuji in a ramen shop: troublemakers at large. Though, he supposes those moments still had feelings, that maybe his heart has always been pulled a bit to Akira. He remembers teasing Akira about eating enough and how fondly Akira had looked at him, like they’d known each other for years despite just having met. Ryuji felt seen in a way he hadn’t before, had assumed all this time it was because it finally felt like he had a friend again, but maybe it was more. Maybe it was always Akira.

In all the ways Ryuji wants Akira here, he also doesn’t; afraid of how a friendly hand on the shoulder would feel, wary of Akira makin’ dumb jokes that always _felt_ sorta like flirting but also who could tell with the guy? Hell, was it always gonna be this hard? Was he always gonna be feelin’ two different things all the time?

No wonder he felt like his brains had been scrambled.

Ryuji, lost in his thoughts, misses the second Makoto’s fingers finally land and clasp tightly around Ann’s wrist. He barely catches the way Ann instantly freezes, but the way the sound of her laughter dies on her tongue has him jolting to attention. He looks: Makoto’s face turns deadly, wicked smile on her face, and immediately Ryuji feels like he’s in the metaverse again. He looks into the eyes of Queen and almost shivers.

It takes two seconds for Makoto to twist Ann’s arm and flip her on the bed. Ann squeaks in surprise, body folding under Makoto’s deft movements. Ryuji manages to dodge a stray elbow in the tussle and is thankful he didn’t blink or he might’ve gotten creamed. Once Makoto has Ann on her back, hands above her head, the girls stare down at each other.

Ryuji coughs.

“Not...telling…” Makoto says between breaths. Ann, her mind running a mile a minute at what just happened, can only nod silently.

Ryuji coughs again. Louder. The girls whip their heads to the side, surprised to see him there, forgetting where they were. They mumble apologies and slowly Makoto retreats from Ann, sitting back on her heels. Ann takes a long, deep breath and then sits up, dragging her knees to her chest. The spectacle causes all of them to forget, for the time being, about Makoto’s slip up.

“Can we get back to my problem?” Ryuji asks, sweetly but urgently, “Because holy shit, if I actually _like_ Akira I’m _fucked._ ”

“Fingers crossed?” Ann offers, but a glare from Ryuji has he holding her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry, no more jokes. If you don’t plan on doing anything about it though...I mean, I don’t want to push you, but I don’t know what else to say if you’re not going to take a chance.”

She sounds sad, Ryuji realizes. No: disappointed. Like she thinks he’s wrong.

Heck, maybe he is. But the truth is he just doesn’t wanna do anything about it. He likes Akira: fine, accepted (begrudgingly but it counts). He saw Akira _with_ Yusuke today and got jealous, yes, but the actual thought of being in that situation, that _position_ , now makes his body feel sick. It’s just--he’s not--there’s too--and if he...Ryuji sighs dramatically. It’s been so hard already. Anything more would just be worse. He’s not strong enough to fall for his best friend, especially a very taken best friend.

“If you’re worried about Yusuke, I know that they, uh, are open,” Makoto offers kindly.

“I know that,” Ryuji waves the comment off. Yeah, open to like, people who can have intelligent conversations, or who read things other than effin’ manga, or who can pass a fuckin’ history test. The sick feeling in his body intensifies. No _way_ they’d be into him, not his dumb mouth that won’t shut up or his stupid impulsivity like today in Mementos, goin’ after a Shadow single-handedly. If he even tried to entertain the idea it’s just...so ridiculous? Imagine! Blonde idiot between two dark, mysterious intellectuals. Ha, in what fuckin’ world.

Plus Ryuji’s not entirely sure _he’s_ down with that whole open thing, so might as well kill that train of thought before it starts.

“There’s no way this ends well for me, s’all,” he says. The honesty in his voice grips Ann’s and Makoto’s hearts equally; it’s not self-deprecation for the sake of attention. It’s real. “And I’d rather not get caught up in a buncha shit. I’m glad everythin’ kinda makes sense now, cause for real I thought I was goin’ effin’ crazy, but at the end of the day none of it matters. So I don’t want you two meddling, I don’t want to act on anythin’, and I definitely don’t want to tell Akira how I feel. I wanna just...keep on keepin’ on, I guess. And,” he sheepishly looks down, “If you’re okay with it I wanna keep talkin’ to you both just so I don’t keep it all bottled up and go Shadow huntin’ again.”

Makoto smiles warmly, oddly pleased to be a part of Ryuji’s inner circle now, and pulls him back onto the bed. He sits between the two girls--and holy shit if you had told him like, two fuckin’ months ago he’d be in this position he prolly woulda died right there--but now things are different, now there’s Akira and an ever-quickening _thump-thump_ in Ryuji’s chest, so he’s content to have two girl friends instead of two girlfriends.

And then they just...talk. The girls tease Ryuji (Makoto goes for gentle, Ann’s a spitfire). He teases them right back (a quick “where were you hopin’ to the end the night?” directed towards Ann got her to shut up _real_ fast). They ask him what he likes about Akira (“Ugh, no, I’m not gettin’ into this right now...but if I had to say _some_ thing, I’d say…” and then he talked for a half hour). Ryuji asks them when the fuck did they happen because how effin’ oblivious is he?! Makoto asks what he saw in Mementos and the look in Ryuji’s eyes tells her she will never, ever know (and that she should be glad for it). The conversation steers to their current palace (“I’m so tired of effin’ sand in my pants!”), to school (“Ryuji, I swear to god, you better be studying”), to homes and happiness. And while Akira never leaves Ryuji’s mind, not really, he finds himself at peace. Okay, so he’s gonna lose epically on this--somehow, Ryuji knows he won’t completely lose Akira, and that alone makes everything feel a little better.

Though he does curse under his breath when he realizes that it’s gonna be hella awkward next time he sees the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again so sry i made y'all wait for this shitty chapter BUT i have one after next written and ready and i'm working on the next now so thank you for your patience :)
> 
> come talk to me at [ goodestboyryuji ](%E2%80%9Dgoodestboyryuji.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) bc nothin makes me happier than talking about my best boy and HIS best boys!!!


	8. Sunrise Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji seeks solace in a Sunday gym run. Instead he runs into someone he was definitely hoping NOT to see and realizes he's not the only one who had a shitty dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *keith in his vlog voice* i am so sorry
> 
> Life has been...insane for me these past months. I've had to take a step back from writing mainly for lack of access to a computer, but also been goin through some shit u feel? So anyway: I'M BACK AND SORRY. I will never abandon my fics bc I am stubborn as hell and also I love them.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: I get into some troubling stuff in this chapter about past trauma for Yusuke and Ryuji. I HC'd Yusuke's childhood and there's abuse-related self-blame happening in this chapter. I wrote it cause I was feeling it myself; if you are worried you can't read it, pop down to the end of the chapter for a synopsis! It won't play a larger part in the fic so if you skip it entirely you will miss nothing. I will also insert a TW in the chapter itself.

_ There are hands on his skin. Everything is cool, nearly freezing, except where the hands touch.  _

_ “I saw you watching,” the voice says. The hands are hot; they trace his collarbone, down over his chest. They hover above his hip bones. _

_ “Were you enjoying yourself? Watching me? Watching us?” _

_ He can’t speak. He’s tried so many times already: to say stop, to say don’t ever stop, to say no more and then beg for just that. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He tries to open his eyes, too, but finds he can’t see. It is only the voice. Only the touch. _

_ “Aw, don’t be like that. A lie of omission is still a lie. And liars will be punished.” _

_ The voice is like velvet. The hands are like iron. With a hiss they sear into his skin, hot handprints, now holding hips tightly. _

_ “Is that what you want?” A hum of consideration. The hands leave; he wants to cry. _

_ “You need proper punishment, Ryuji.” _

_ The hands return, wrapping around his-- _

Ryuji shoots up in bed, heart racing faster than it ever has (and that’s counting that marathon he ran two years ago). His body feels hot, his sheets sticking to his chest. There’s a dying groan in his throat, presumably what woke him up in the first place, so he lets out a shaky breath instead. He runs a frantic hand through his damp hair and realizes-- _ ugh, of course _ \--he’s going to have to do a load of laundry before his mom gets home late that evening. His boxers stick to his skin and he throws the covers off with disgust, meandering to his drawer to quick change before getting back in bed. He curses under his breath; he’d been worried about this. I mean for fuck’s sake, nothing even  _ happened  _ in the dream. Was there no escape?

He glances at the clock. 3:04 am. Well, at least it was Sunday. 

He wills himself to think of Akira with like, seven noses before falling back into a fitful slumber (it doesn’t work. Somehow he makes it cute).

 

* * *

 

Sunday is a blessed day, if mainly for the fact that he doesn’t have to go to school and see Akira. Ryuji heads to the gym; like the day before, it doesn’t do as much for him as killin’ Shadows would, but he can’t even  _ look  _ at the metaverse app without blushing. God, he had like, less than twenty-four hours to get his shit together. Akira, wonderfully and terribly, hasn’t called or texted. Ryuji feels both relieved by the space and frustrated by it. He wants to think that it’s just Akira giving him room to breathe; but what if Akira has thought more about what happened and is upset now? What if he didn’t even want to look at Ryuji ever again?

He lands a solid right hook on the punching bag near the back of the gym. What was Ryuji gonna say tomorrow? What  _ could  _ he say?  _ Hey, saw you two bangin’ and then saved your lives. You down for a game at the arcade?  _ Ha, okay, sure. He jabs twice to the left and dodges an imaginary punch. What if he didn’t say anything at all? Just sorta disappeared?

Something cold grips his heart; no, no that’s definitely not an option. Just the thought of never seeing Akira--or, for that matter, Yusuke--again hurts. He kicks his left leg up and makes contact.

  
So, somewhere in between then? But what  _ was  _ in between? Ryuji grunts between his teeth, landing 1-2 punches over and over. Why’d it have to get so effin’ complicated? Why did it have to be  _ him,  _ why did--

_ No. _ He pauses, steps back, wipes his forehead with his arm. Ann told him to stop getting hung up on that. The “why”’s didn’t matter, she said, once it was already here. He takes another deep breath: they didn’t matter, not really, because it was how it was. He saw his friends in a...compromising position. And he was  _ jealous _ . Because he liked Akira. And it was gonna be real weird the next time he saw them.  _ Accept it, _ Makoto’s voice soothes.  _ Nowhere to go but up?  _ Ryuji shakes his head, remembering her innocent expression. Ryuji preferred looking on the positive side of things--otherwise the negative shit could drown you, and he’d come too close to that already in his life to let it happen again--but it was harder with this. He was struggling to find the glass half full. 

He huffs through his nose and throws his weight into the next punch. Somehow his aching knuckles feel good and he goes for another rapid series.

 

_ Yo, how’s it goin’? _

 

Too casual. The punches come faster.

 

_ You sounded  _ real  _ good, Akira. _

 

His cheeks redden.  _ Hell. No.  _ His knuckles might be bleeding.

 

_ I wish that was me. _

_ I think I like you, man. _

_ I wanna try kissin’ you. _

 

“AUGH!” Ryuji can feel the mistake as he makes it, right leg swinging up in the air towards the bag. He immediately knows he shouldn’t have gone for it but he can’t help it: his heart hurt and he couldn’t make sense of it, so why not pain he  _ could  _ make sense of? The leg connects and the pain shoots up, nerves exploding until it lands at the old fracture above his knee and surges out like a mushroom cloud. He shouts again, this time in pain, and falls to the mat. It’s not serious, he can tell that much, but it aches like hell. 

A guy working out nearby sees it happen and rushes over to him, leading the limping Ryuji to the bench where he grits his teeth, chugs water, and wills the pain away. He warns Ryuji to be more careful and Ryuji just nods his thanks. An employee comes to check on him after a few minutes, offers him meds from their first aid kit, but Ryuji waves it away. This pain, at least, is familiar. He knows what fixes this kinda thing: patience, for the most part, and some good stretching. The other pain...that one’s harder. 

He stands and winces, putting light pressure on the leg. Okay, so no running for the next few days. He takes a step and the pain is a sharp pulse--probably will have to stay at the entrance of the Palace or Mementos too, but right now that doesn’t feel like a bad thing. He limps over to the exit of the gym, realizing that his training’s gotta be over for today. 

When he steps out into the city air, he takes a deep breath. It’s not entirely fresh, of course, but it’s his Tokyo air: the faint scent of warm concrete, a bit of exhaust, and a mixture of all the nearby restaurants. He steps to the side and leans against the wall, tipping his head back as the sweat drips down his neck.

Ann told him to chill. He needs to chill. What’s one little crush on a best bro? Probably happens all the time. He grits his teeth, willing himself to believe it. Willing himself to get over it as soon as he can so things can go back to normal. He had already decided he wasn’t going to act on anything, so really the only thing left to do was push the feelings away until they stayed gone.

He breathes in slowly through his nose and catches the scent of a nearby ramen shop. His stomach grumbles in response, eager and demanding. Ryuji can’t help the chuckle that comes out as he mutters, “Alright, alright, I’ll feed ya.”

He steps out of the alley and into the morning sun. Actually, it’s approaching noon, but on a Sunday the streets are a little less crowded than normal and it feels earlier than it is. Either that or people are just moving a little slower, still shrugging the sleep from their shoulders. Ryuji’s thoughts drift back to what he’s gonna do when he sees Akira at school tomorrow. Could he play it cool? Ryuji wants to think he can. Should he wait for Akira to talk first? He grimaces; no, too many variables at play there. So that means it’s gonna have to be  _ him  _ that says the first words. Ryuji stops and considers Futaba’s palace--they have, what, about a week left? Geez. Screw just tryin’ to find somethin’ to say; maybe that’s what they  _ should  _ be talkin’ about. Perhaps he should just ask about that. 

His feet lead him to the shop, following the scent, leg still aching but the pain is dull. He gets a little lost in his thoughts, mind occupied with the Palace, how he’s pretty much down for the count for the next few days, definitely  _ not  _ thinking about Akira’s hands, when he hears his name and his blood runs cold.

 

“Ryuji!” 

 

There’s no mistaking that voice: deep, smooth, and confident, like it never wavered or trembled or shook. That is, of course, as long as Ryuji doesn’t think about how he  _ has  _ heard it waver with pleasure and shake with desire, and thankfully right now he’s too dumbstruck for his mind to wander there. His neck nearly snaps as he looks up and locks onto the tall figure running eagerly toward him, Yusuke’s face bright and joyful. Immediately Ryuji’s face burns. He blinks rapidly, not entirely sure what he’s seeing is real until Yusuke’s there, right in front of him, smelling faintly of paint and some sorta other flowery scent. Ryuji’s body jumps into the fight-or-flight response, heart beating wildly against his rib cage as his mouth dries up. He wants to run like he wanted to run yesterday, but also like yesterday, he feels like he can’t move.  _ Yusuke? Here?  _ He’d been so caught up thinking about Monday morning at school he hadn’t even considered he might run into one of them on the street; Tokyo was too big for such a coincidence (or so he thought). His mind struggles to connect the dots.

Yusuke’s eyes are holding him where he stands, but instead of what Ryuji was expecting to see there (malice? disgust? he doesn’t know what to call it) they’re immeasurably kind. He simply looks...pleased. Ryuji dumbly lifts a hand to wave.

“H-hey, man,” he says, trying so hard to keep his voice even.  _ What now? What friggin’ now?!  _ Ryuji hadn’t gotten to Yusuke yet either, just thinking about Akira first.  _ God,  _ what was he ‘posed to say to the dude he saw gettin’ freakin’ railed yesterday?

He laments the way his stomach drops more in pleasure than embarrassment.

“Hello,” Yusuke replies. “I did not expect to see a friend today, though I cannot complain.” 

Ryuji’s knees feel like jelly, and it  _ has  _ to be because of yesterday, not because Yusuke’s sincere tone of voice and kind words make him feel special, if just for a moment. He thinks back to his conversation with Yusuke in the van at Mementos and everything gets hot again--Ryuji wishes it had stayed at that, wishes he didn’t stick around to be a freakin’ peeping Tom yesterday, but what’s done is done. He briefly wonders if his advice is what lead to their Mementos hookup.

“I also did not expect to see one yesterday…” Yusuke continues, and he’s been spending way too much time with Akira, Ryuji decides, when he sees the corner of Yusuke’s mouth turn up into a very Akira-like smirk. Those damn legs of Ryuji’s do nothing to save him, and with bitterness Ryuji realizes he wouldn’t be able to really get away anyway, his leg still aching and forcing a limp. Instead he just stands: still dumb, still unable to move, mouth grasping for words. He’s always had a bit of stage fright and now, standing before a smiling Yusuke who is just gonna go ahead and bring up everything right away, Ryuji feels very on-the-spot. He might vomit.

“Uh, w-well...uh, y’know,” Ryuji stammers, searching for the excuse he’s gotta have hidden in his brain somewhere. Somewhere deep in his heart he resigns this to karma, the price he’s gotta pay for what he’s done.

Yusuke chuckles that dark, deep laugh and shakes his head softly. He reaches out to Ryuji and places a hand on his nearly-bare shoulder, and though Ryuji knows it’s probably supposed to be comforting, he doesn’t like that Yusuke’s trying to be kind. He doesn’t like how the contact makes his stomach jump into his throat, doesn’t like how it feels like Yusuke’s tryin’ to comfort him when it should probably be the other way around. Yusuke should care, he should absolutely care that what Ryuji did was...weird. Ryuji gets ready to apologize when Yusuke cuts him off.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Yusuke says, squeezing Ryuji’s shoulder. “I’m sure it was...strange...to have caught us.” He frowns suddenly. “That is my fault. We shouldn’t have been there, doing that, but,” and here Yusuke’s smile returns with a shrug, “I rather enjoy Akira’s metaverse outfit. Surely you understand.”

He doesn’t like that Yusuke’s taking responsibility, but Ryuji doesn’t trust himself to speak. And because Ryuji _ does  _ understand, understands better than Yusuke even realizes, he just nods. The air turns awkward as they both fall silent; Yusuke seems content in the space, but Ryuji shifts his body weight from hip to hip, still gingerly putting pressure on the injured leg. He can’t look too long at Yusuke, eyes flicking away after just a moment.

“So,” Ryuji begins, unable to sit in the awkwardness any longer, “What are ya doin’ here?”

Yusuke turns towards the shop and lifts his hand. Ryuji notices for the first time the bag of what appears to be bean sprouts he has clutched between his fingers. It’s a meager supply at best, just a handful, and it’s hard to tell whether this is the amount Yusuke started with or if he’s been eating them for some time.

“I like to sit outside the shop and smell the aroma,” Yusuke says, “I eat my bean sprouts as I inhale so that I can attempt to trick my mind into believing I am eating what I am smelling, instead of these simple bean sprouts.” 

Ryuji’s heart feels like someone’s squeezed it. “Wha-? Dude. Don’t tell me that. That’s depressing as hell.”

Yusuke frowns, “You asked.”

“Why would you do that? Why not get actual ramen?” Ryuji asks. He suspects he already knows the answer. 

The air between them begins to shift: awkwardness starts to fade, in favor of something friendly and comfortable. Ryuji’s body language relaxes, shoulders that had been bunched up near his ears dropping. The tenseness in his legs smooth out and his temple stops pulsing. What happened still pushes impatiently at Ryuji’s mind and conscience, but Ryuji finds that the longer he looks at Yusuke, the harder it is to feel so bad. 

“I have already spent my week’s budget on new canvases, so this is the closest I can get to a real meal.”

Yeah, pretty much what he was thinkin’. He sighs heavily--he doesn’t  _ want  _ to do what he’s about to do, he’d rather just enjoy a bowl alone, but Yusuke’s standin’ in front of him thin as hell and Ryuji’s pretty sure that noise he hears is Yusuke’s stomach growling and the damn bag of bean sprouts is so  _ pathetic  _ looking and-

“Dude, I swear to god you gotta learn how savin’ money works. C’mon,” almost subconsciously Ryuji reaches out and claps Yusuke on the shoulder, “It’s my treat.”

He expects Yusuke to follow, but after a couple steps he realizes Yusuke isn’t with him. He shoves in hands in his pockets and turns to look at his friend, who has a bewildered expression on his face.

“Dude, leggo, I’m starvin’.”

“I don’t understand. You want to purchase my meal for me? Why?”

Ryuji scratches the back of his neck, looking down at his feet, searching for the right answer. Then he remembers Ann’s advice, and smiles at Yusuke. Yusuke’s brow furrows in response, but he angles his body towards Ryuji, as if he’s ready to follow now no matter what.

“The why’s don’t matter dude, not once it’s already here. I already told you I’m buyin’. Ya comin’ or what?”

It’s Yusuke’s turn to smile: it’s soft, slow, rising on his face along with the color to his cheeks. He wordlessly pockets the bag of bean sprouts and walks quickly over to his blond friend, where they enter the shop together.

 

Ryuji ends up ordering for Yusuke; he got overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of options and after nearly having a breakdown over what spice combinations would “elicit the most ethereal feeling” because he’s not sure when he’ll get this opportunity again, Ryuji saved both the poor confused cashier and his friend and chose for him. Yusuke didn’t protest, just nodded solemnly as if to say he trusted Ryuji as an expert.

They take their bowls and then their seats, opting for the bar so that they sit next to each other. There was an open booth, and Ryuji preferred booths, but there was something a little  _ too  _ intimate for that setting on a Sunday afternoon. In this transition between outside and inside, between surprising confrontation and the decision to continue to be around each other, Ryuji lets himself relax fully. When Yusuke grabs his wrist as he changes his mind  _ again  _ about what to order, Ryuji’s skin doesn’t jump or cringe at the contact. When Yusuke drops his bag of sprouts and bends down to get it, Ryuji doesn’t think about how similar the position is to the one in Mementos. 

He doesn’t let it go, doesn’t forget, but he finds the peace of mind to fall into a rhythm with Yusuke. He finds a desire to watch over Yusuke growing in his heart, much like he feels the need to protect Akira in palaces. He finds a deep breath in exchange for the one he’d been holding.

 

Once seated, Ryuji dives into his meal, but Yusuke simply stares down at it. 

“Wha’s a matter?” Ryuji asks, his mouth full of food, a single noodle hanging out between his lips.

“Hm?” Yusuke asks, looking up. “Oh, nothing is wrong. I’m admiring the food.” The light hum of voices across the shop create a warmth and ambiance to the setting: nothing is harsh, everything is light and airy and flavorful. Someone breaks into loud laughter at a table across the way; another couple sits in silence, stirring their bowls without a word.

“Admiring it?” Ryuji snorts and shovels another bite in, “S’not for admiring. It’s for eating.” Ryuji gestures to Yusuke’s bowl with his own spoon, “Eat, ‘fore it gets cold.”

Yusuke sends Ryuji a look. “You have little attention to detail.”

“Kinda my thing,” Ryuji says with a shrug, looking back down at his bowl to find his next bite, “S’prolly why we balance each other out.”

Yusuke inhales quickly with a small sound. Ryuji doesn’t hear, just keeps stirring his bowl, but the silence on his left makes him pause to look up. When he looks at Yusuke, Yusuke is looking at him...weirdly, kinda dazed, and his cheeks are pink. Ryuji shifts uncomfortably.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Yusuke says quickly, turning back to his food, “Just...what you said. About balance. It gave me an idea for a new painting.”

Ryuji snorts, “Heh, alright, but I ain’t strippin’ for ya if that’s what you mean.”

He spoke without thinking-- _ again _ \--and the fire that blazes hot in his cheeks is his third round with karma today. He busies himself with searching for a piece of pork while Yusuke laughs lightly beside him.

“Have no worries, friend, I wasn’t going to ask,” Yusuke replies. Ryuji doesn’t notice the way Yusuke looks at him from the sides of his eyes, a small smile on his face. He doesn’t see the glint that shines in those eyes, can’t notice the wheels that turn inside Yusuke’s mind, doesn’t feel the way his gaze travels slowly over Ryuji’s body.

After a brief moment of silence, the two fall into easy conversation, ranging from their Palace deadline to how exactly Kosei works (Ryuji is abhorrently against the idea of sleeping  _ inside _ your school). Yusuke (finally) takes a bite and literally-- _ literally _ \--moans, which causes all sorts of problems for Ryuji. Takes ten minutes for the blush to recede. Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, Yusuke finishes before Ryuji. His bowl is literally empty, everything gone, and he pats his stomach happily.

“That was exquisite,” Yusuke says with a sigh. Ryuji smiles at him.

“Yeah, definitely one of my favorite dishes,” he pauses for a moment, “What’s your favorite food?” Ryuji realizes that, despite everything they’ve been through thus far, he doesn’t actually know a lot about Yusuke. The thought kinda makes him sad.

“Hmm…” Yusuke looks thoughtful, “I don’t know that I have one.”

“Dude, c’mon, ya gotta have a favorite food.”

_**(start TW)** _

 

“I don’t believe I do. We did not eat much in Madarame’s care,” Yusuke says softly, “So I suppose I could choose from what we  _ were  _ allowed to eat, but that is a particularly small list, and quite honestly I wasn’t fond of most of it.”

Ryuji scratches at the back of his neck, somewhat embarrassed but mostly feeling those tugs inside his chest, that feeling of protectiveness and loyalty filling him inside.

“Geez, man,” he says quietly, “That, uh, that sucks. I dunno if I ever said it before, but sorry you had to go through all that, man. I know how shitty dads can be, so...yeah. I get it.”

“He wasn’t my father,” Yusuke says, tone dropping even more into an almost-whisper.

“Yeah…” Ryuji nods, “Neither was mine.”

Silence spreads between them heavy, Ryuji’s food forgotten under the weight of harsh memories they both sift through. Yusuke winces at a memory of sitting in the corner, watching helplessly while his friends ate, read, painted. Ryuji clenches a fist when he can practically see his dad looming over him, fist raised, eyes clouded over from the alcohol and resentment.

They sigh at the same time, attempting to push the memories away, realizing there are too many to get rid of.

“Life,” Yusuke beings, “Has not been easy on us, has it?”

Ryuji snorts. “Understatement of the year, dude.”

“I admire your strength,” Yusuke says suddenly. Ryuji balks, hunching his shoulders forward and dropping his jaw. He turns to Yusuke, surprise written all across his face, confusion bright in his eyes.

“What?!  _ My  _ strength?! Dude, no,” he waves it off, “I’m not strong.”

“You are,” Yusuke insists, “It would be one thing if you joined the Phantom Thieves after Akira helped you with your father’s palace, but you had already gone through that. You had suffered under his hand, survived, and came out on the other side. Akira has told me how friendly you were to him the day you two met--I do not know how you could go through your early life and not be jaded, or bitter, but here you are.”

The sincerity gets to Ryuji again; his stomach flips and his heart twists, a weird feeling resonating through his bones. He flushes quickly, again embarrassed. Akira’s talked to Yusuke? About  _ him?  _ And Yusuke...admires Ryuji? 

“I  _ am  _ bitter,” Ryuji counters, “I’m angry as shit half the time. Hell, most of the time. I  _ hate  _ my dad, I hate what he did to me, I hate what he did to my mom. I dunno what I’d do if I saw him again...nothin’ pretty, that’s for sure. I mean, I remember being so, so  _ mad  _ that it felt like my whole body was on fire. You know that feelin’?”

Yusuke shakes his head, to which Ryuji shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t, bein’ all calm and shit. Well, anyway, that’s when I discovered running. One day I felt like I was gonna actually burst into flames, so I just threw myself outta my front door and ran to get all that energy out. I think I ran for two hours straight, up n’ down the streets of Tokyo, until I wasn’t really thinking about anything. ‘Till the only thing I could feel was my feet on the pavement--and that my body wanted me to stop, ha. ‘N it helped, it helped a lot. I joined the school team, got really good, and I  _ was  _ somebody, y’know? As long as I could run, I could calm down long enough to behave, or do my homework, or whatever…”

Ryuji trails off and sighs, rubbing at his face with both hands. “...But then we hired Kamoshida, and all that kinda went out the window. I saw what he was doin’, but it was like I was the only one! And I kept runnin’, kept trying to keep all of my feelings away, but I couldn’t help it. He reminded me too much of my dad. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing, so I started askin’ around. I tried talkin’ to teachers, but they were about as helpful as a pile of shit. I tried talkin’ to students, but they were either blinded by his success or too afraid to talk. Felt like I was getting nowhere, which made everything worse.”

Ryuji doesn’t know why, but he finds himself unable to stop talking. He’d never really talked like this with anyone, not even Akira. Sure, he’d talked about his dad, told Akira all the details about his really shitty home life, but he’d never opened up so  _ easily.  _ He never even officially told Akira about what happened with Kamoshida; Kamoshida had outed himself, there in the castle. Ryuji hadn’t been planning on telling anyone his own story, how he’d gotten kicked off the team, so it’s weird how easily it flows out now. 

“When he started tauntin’ me...I-I dunno, man, I lost it. Just felt like I was at the end of my rope. He’d been pushin’ us all practice,  _ way  _ too hard, but no one ‘cept me seemed to care. And when he started pickin’ on me, still no one cared. Like...shit, this was my team, y’know?! I thought they had my back! But...anyway, that’s old news. You know the rest. I lunged at him like an idiot, and because he’d overworked us I was more likely to get hurt. When he pushed me back, I landed on my leg wrong and--crack. End of running.

After running was gone, I didn’t have anything left. You say I’m not jaded or whatever but dude, I dyed my hair just to spite ‘em all. I stopped wearing the dress code to prove how much I didn’t care. I was so bitter I stopped caring about everything. I was basically alone for  _ months _ . I started lashin’ out at people, even people I liked. I snapped at my mom once and...geez, the look on her face hurt more than anything else. Man, I was more than just  _ wandering, _ ” Ryuji says emphatically, “I was totally lost. I was floatin’ through my life like I wasn’t even there. I cared so much about what was goin’ on at school, an’ I was still tryin’ to get people to believe me about Kamoshida, but I didn’t care about anything that happened to me. If someone wanted to beat me up, I didn’t care...and sometimes, it felt like I deserved it. Y’know? Sometimes I still feel that way, actually.”

He sighs heavily. “But, back to what you said, about how I was friendly when I met Akira. I was actually pretty angry already and it was like, seven in the morning,” he chuckles. “I was yellin’ after Kamoshida, waving my fist like some sorta one man mob, and Akira stepped out into the rain. Meeting Akira was like…” Ryuji’s eyes lose focus, his attention retreating into memories of that morning, “...I dunno. It was like remembering there was something to live for. I saw him and I just knew he was gonna be the start and end of everything, you know?”

Next to him, Yusuke has a dreamy look in his eyes.

“That, my friend, I do know,” he hums. Ryuji comes back to the moment, cheeks flushing, sure he’s given himself away. He can feel his own expression mirrored in Yusuke’s, their shared experience of being dazzled by Akira and dedicated to him fully sparkling in their eyes. He looks down, embarrassed, and grabs his spoon.

“A-anyway, point is, dude: I’m not strong. I’m still bitter, even after defeating Kamoshida, even after all we’ve been through,” Ryuji runs a hand through his hair, “I know I still get angry too fast ‘n stuff. Morgana says it’s why I suck so much in battle. But  _ you, _ ” Ryuji gestures to Yusuke with his spoon, little droplets of broth falling between them, “You’re the strong one. You’re not all angry and full of spite. You got a clear head when we’re battling, and even though you’ve been through shit, it felt like you never really burned with hatred for Madarame like I did. You like...took the high road and  _ forgave  _ him. That’s bein’ strong. That’s shit I never coulda done.”

Yusuke sighs in response. “That’s not strength, that’s  _ weakness,”  _ he hisses, “I-I have grown up similar, to you, I think. More similar than we both realize. Madarame was good to me, at first. I never knew my real father--never had a chance to ask my mother--but when I was younger I genuinely believed him to be my blood. He fed me at his table, he clothed me, he helped me develop my talents and passions. However, he ran a tight ship. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not come in unless invited. If I disobeyed--if I got too excited about a particular color I had mixed, or if I tugged on his robe with paint on my fingers--it was the corner for the rest of the day. He withheld meals, sometimes. The hunger made me tired and thus less likely to disobey. I learned how to behave very early in life; I suppose you must have learned this, too.”

When Yusuke looks at Ryuji with an expectant look, Ryuji chuckles. “I learned what he  _ wanted  _ me to do, but nine times outta ten I was doin’ the opposite just to piss him off. Kept his attention on me so it didn’t go to my Mom.”

Yusuke nods solemnly, considering the implication of Ryuji’s words. His nonchalance hurts Yusuke deep.

Ryuji watches Yusuke carefully, eyes searching his face, reading his body language. He doesn’t want Yusuke to relive memories that will hurt too much; his pain is more fresh, his trauma closer to the surface, and Ryuji knows how quickly that can descend into a panic attack. As he looks over Yusuke, Ryuji notices the little things about him he’s never really taken the time to see before: the crinkle of his eyebrows when he struggles to think of the right word, or his long, slender fingers that occasionally move without reason, like fluid brushes painting the air near his face or patterns into the table. His dark hair gleams under the lights inside of the shop.

Ryuji fights the urge to reach out and hug Yusuke. He doesn’t seem like a hugger, and there’s no way Ryuji’s gonna hug him in the middle of a friggin’ ramen shop, but Yusuke’s eyes are a dangerous shade of deep blue as he thinks about all the memories he  _ didn’t  _ get to make with his mom. Ryuji remembers what it was like to crave a kind touch and yet feel fearful of anyone’s hands coming towards him; he doesn’t know if Yusuke feels that now, but the memory is enough to hold him back. Instead, Ryuji’s leg begins to bounce absentmindedly.

Yusuke swallows back emotions that verge on choking him and licks his lips slowly. “When he began taking on more pupils, younger ones closer to my age, it inflated his ego. They came in waves, desperate for guidance, and he was so kind to bring them into his own home. At first I was jealous. Madarame was supposed to be  _ my  _ sensei,  _ my  _ master. When he sent them to the corner, I didn’t feel a sense of injustice; I had no desire to  _ save  _ them.” 

Yusuke looks disgusted, revolted, in a way Ryuji’s never seen. 

“No, instead I was furious. That was  _ my  _ corner, even if I hated that corner. I hated every new pupil, for with them came the chance that I lose whatever ground I had gained in Madarame’s eyes. I spoke to no one, instead focusing on my craft, obsessed with the idea of improving. When he began using sketches as a means of currency in the home--for items such as a book, new brushes, or even breakfast--I spent all day with my pencil and pads, desperate to be the best. I was frantically reaching for his favor. It was...pathetic.”

Ryuji opens his mouth to protest, because geez, no one could expect anything different from a little kid, but Yusuke continues on.

“I imagine that is why I have such...trouble...in social situations sometimes. I did not take the time to even learn the other students’ names; instead my world was purely art and Madarame, Madarame and art. I yearned for his affection and sought perfected skill. I was desperate to be a pupil he was proud of. When he began taking my art and presenting it as his own, it felt like what I was looking for. He saw enough skill, technique, and innovation on the canvas to put his name on it. I was honored.

He treated me favorably from that point on. There was no more corner as long as I kept producing art. There were regular meals--meager, but regular. He allowed me private lessons. I thought-” Yusuke’s voice wavers, “I thought he cared for me as his own.”

“Hey man,” Ryuji says softly, “None of that’s your fault. Sometimes my dad would bring me home a gift, or we’d go play catch in the park, or he’d tuck me into bed. Then like, two days later, he’d be throwin’ a beer bottle at me or somethin’. It always made it so much harder. It was like...it was like...like he loved me, but he hated me too, y’know? Akira still has to remind me that I didn’t deserve that, and I didn’t deserve Kamoshida either...so, geez man, I might as well be the one to remind you. None of that shit was your fault, and you didn’t deserve it.”

If he hears him, Yusuke doesn’t show it, just continues on with his story. He bows his head, hair falling in front of his face, shielding his expression from Ryuji. “You call me stronger for forgiving Madarame, but that is not strength. That is weakness, born from my still-lasting desire to be seen as someone worthy in his eyes. It’s weakness because I am not and was never strong enough to hate him wholly--not even when he revealed he is the reason I grew up mother-less. It is weakness because when the other live-in students moved out, when it was just me again, I was happy.”

“Dude, that-”

“It is weakness because I still see him as the one who taught me how to walk, who bought me my first paintbrush. It’s weakness because I cried when Madarame confessed. It’s weakness because I miss him, I miss that house.”

“C’mon, you can’t really-”

From behind the curtain of dark hair, Ryuji sees a drop of moisture fall onto the table. “I am weak, Ryuji, because I cannot wholly condemn the only person in my life who truly deserves it. I am not str-”

_ “Yusuke!”  _ Ryuji shouts, loud enough to  _ really  _ get the attention of the other customers. Since their arrival the number of people has dwindled, down to a mere 3 tables. The volume, thus, has also dropped, which makes Ryuji’s shout feel that much louder. A woman eating alone in the corner jumps and drops her spoon. Ryuji winces and looks around, holding up an apologetic hand towards all the stunned patrons, and then turns back to Yusuke. Yusuke hasn’t moved, but the puddle of tears on the table has gotten a little bigger. Ryuji reaches out to him, hand hovering above his shoulder for a moment before landing lightly. Yusuke doesn’t move.

“Yusuke,” Ryuji says, more tenderly, “Stop that shit, alright? You’re not weak cause you can’t be totally mad at Madarame. My mom, she made me go to a couple therapy sessions when I was kid after Dad left," Ryuji rubs the back of his neck, "'N the lady told me that it's normal to be confused about how you feel when someone you love and who loves you is treatin' you like shit. You're not weak because you still care about 'im. You're strong because you're not lettin' that shit destroy you. Listen, man, we were just kids,” Ryuji pauses, “We  _ are  _ just kids, man. We’re just kids who’ve been through some effed up shit and we’re both tryin’ to be better for it. You’re tryin’ to get over all the crap Madarame put you through, and I’m tryin’ to be less angry about it all. It’s just...we just…”

**_(end TW)_ **

Ryuji lets out a frustrated sigh, running his other hand through his hair. The hand on Yusuke’s shoulder squeezes, attempting to get out what Ryuji couldn’t find the words to say.

“We’re trying,” Yusuke repeats, voice barely above a whisper. Inside the whisper lies something powerful, Ryuji notices: a firmness of spirit.

“...Yeah,” Ryuji nods, gripping Yusuke’s shoulder tightly, “We’re tryin’. That’s what matters.”

Yusuke lifts his hand and wipes at his face, then reaches across himself to grab Ryuji’s hand. He holds it, squeezing until his knuckles turn white, and together the two boys sit in their shared experiences, in their shared pain, but most importantly in their shared resolve. Some time passes but neither moves, not even when a distant voice in the back of Ryuji’s head notices that they’re basically holding hands; not even when Yusuke’s cheeks have dried and he realizes he’s let down a wall he didn’t even know he’d put up. He lifts his head and his hair falls back into place, his profile visible again.

Ryuji doesn’t gasp, not exactly, but his jaw definitely drops slightly and a little puff of air exists his mouth. The sunlight streams in the window and catches everything in a bright light--including Yusuke, his hair glinting, lashes wet and shiny when he glances down. He turns to look at Ryuji then, hand falling away, and he smiles sheepishly.

“Thank you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. Ryuji’s vision blurs suddenly as Yusuke’s features becomes less easy to see. He takes his hand from Yusuke’s shoulders and rubs at his eyes with his fists.

“Yeah man,” he says quickly, hoping Yusuke hasn’t noticed how his sincerity touched Ryuji, “Anytime.”

“I suppose your food is cold now,” Yusuke says, looking at what remains of Ryuji’s ramen, “And I suppose that that’s my fault.”

Before the frown on Yusuke’s face can complete itself, Ryuji waves him off, “Nah, I was done with it anyway.” He pushes the bowl forward and away from him so the bus boy knows to take it on his next round through the dining area.

Yusuke turns and looks out the window, the sun hitting his face directly and causing him to squint. “I should be going,” he muses, his voice low, “Akira is expecting me.”

“Oh…” Ryuji tries, but he’s unable to mask his disappointment. He doesn’t know why he’s disappointed, not really, since it’s not like he was havin’ fun discussin’ hard shit with Yusuke. But it was still nice, in a weird way, to talk to someone besides Akira. Sometimes Ryuji felt bad that all he ever did was unload on Akira when the guy had enough stuff to be worried about. Maybe, maybe now Ryuji could talk to Yusuke? Could he consider the two of them that close?

He wasn’t gonna get his hopes up, but maybe.

Also, admittedly, he’s kinda jealous Yusuke is gonna go hang with Akira. He wonders if that’ll ever go away.

“Would you like to join me?” Yusuke asks, turning back to Ryuji. The offer stuns Ryuji, his lips parting slowly to respond.

“Join you?” Ryuji asks dumbly.

“Yes,” Yusuke says, a small smile on his face, “At Akira’s place. We don’t have concrete plans, but I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

And, like always, powerless to stop it, Ryuji feels his cheeks color a bright red. He’d like to see Akira too, of course, except: yesterday. Goddamn yesterday. Ryuji’s not sure he can handle Yusuke and Akira in one day, in one place. Not again, not so soon.

“Thanks for the offer, man, but I got chores to do,” Ryuji forces a weak smile. The thoughts he’s kept at bay for the afternoon begin leaking in again: what  _ will  _ he do tomorrow? What can he say to Akira that will make everything go back to normal? 

Yusuke appraises him for a moment, eyes searching the near-blank expression on Ryuji’s face and the swimming mixture of emotions in his eyes, but in the end he doesn’t protest. At the very least, Ryuji seems...tired, to Yusuke, and he knows that adding Akira won’t make anything easier for his friend. So he does his best to send a comforting look in Ryuji’s direction, to communicate a plethora of things through his eyes straight to Ryuji’s heart-- _ you are kind, you are good, thank you for this afternoon, I see now what Akira sees so beautifully in you _ \--and then nods.

“Of course,” he says simply, “Do what you must. I will see you tomorrow, perhaps.”

Ryuji presses his hands against the countertop to stand, “Yeah may--” he begins, but when he puts pressure on his bad leg, the leg he’s forgotten he recently hurt, he falls. His knee buckles beneath him and his balance is all off now. Normally he can catch himself, but his other leg is still bent over the stool, and it seems like the next thing in Ryuji’s future is a mouthful of linoleum floor. Yusuke’s reflexes are quick though, thank god, and he reaches out to Ryuji to catch him, moving swiftly and fluidly behind so that Ryuji falls into his open arms.

It’s embarrassing, fallin’ into your friend’s arms like that, and it doesn’t help that Yusuke looks down at Ryuji with concern bright in those dark eyes. It doesn’t help that he feels a bit like a damsel in distress and that Yusuke seems to always look like a goodamn prince, especially in his school uniform (and, on that note, who the hell wears their school uniform on a weekend?!)

“Are you alright?” Yusuke asks. Ryuji, still stunned, notices how secure he feels here. Ryuji doesn’t know how the dude manages to be so strong and still look like a bean pole, but here he is, holdin’ Ryuji like he’s nothin’ more than a feather. His strength in the metaverse all at once makes sense, which both impresses Ryuji and pushes him to commit to more days at the gym this week. He stands and pushes off Yusuke, putting all his weight into his left leg. 

“M’fine,” Ryuji says quickly, “Just went too hard at the gym.” Yusuke, instead of scolding him like Ryuji expects, laughs.

“Of course you did, Skull,” Yusuke says with a shake of his head, “Always going for things full throttle.” Ryuji doesn’t miss the fondness in his voice, usually reserved for when Yusuke speaks about Akira, and Ryuji’s heart is already beating wildly. “Well, on that note of mostly-good health, then, I will see you later. Goodbye, friend,” Yusuke waves, turning away from Ryuji towards the door. “I appreciated the food and good companionship. I won’t forget the words you’ve shared.”

Ryuji stares after him, “Me, uh, me too, dude. Thanks for all of...that.” 

And, with that, Yusuke leaves the ramen shop and a dumbfounded Ryuji.

 

* * *

When Yusuke walks into Leblanc, Akira is already brewing a coffee for him. The scent is heavenly, something definitely new, and Yusuke smiles at the idea he’ll be trying a new brew.

“Welcome,” Akira smiles at Yusuke, “I’m almost finished with this new coffee Sojiro just went out and got. It’s supposed to have ‘oaky undertones.’”

“I would be delighted to try it,” Yusuke says sincerely, almost seriously, before he smiles back. “You’ll never guess who I ran into earlier.”

“Ryuji?” Akira laughs with a shake of his head. He switches the hot plate off and begins pouring hot water into the brew pot.

Yusuke frowns. “Well, uh, yes.”

Akira, who’d been reaching for a cup, nearly stumbles. His head whips to look at Yusuke, surprise evident on his face. “Wait, seriously? I was joking cause of yesterday.”

Yusuke shrugs and slides into a stool at the bar. “We ate lunch together. He’s...sincere. Aggressively so,” Yusuke says, small smile on his face. His eyes get a faraway look--one Akira knows well--and Akira’s body flushes warm. He gets a feeling that Yusuke is becoming just as enamored with Ryuji as he is, which is more than he could ever hope for.

Akira mirrors Yusuke’s smile, “Yeah, he is.” He pauses, thinking his next words over, before jumping in: “Did you two talk about yesterday?”

“Nothing notable. He’s obviously feeling very uncomfortable about the whole thing, which is to be expected.”

Akira nods solemnly, wiping a smudge on the side of the cup with the corner of his apron. He sighs, “He hasn’t texted me at all.”

Yusuke sees the disappointment on Akira’s face. “I imagine he wouldn’t have spoken to me either had we not literally run into each other.”

“I know,” Akira shakes his head, “But I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve talked to him. I swear, we’ve talked literally every day since we met, and today is the first time there’s just been...nothing. And I don’t know, maybe I’m a little jealous you had such a good conversation with him, that you got to see him and be a friend to him today in a way that I normally do. Not that I’m angry! I’m happy you’re getting closer. I just--I don’t know, Yusuke, what if everything’s ruined now?”

Akira sets the empty mug down a little harder than he means to, and Yusuke reaches out to place a hand over Akira’s wrist. It’s not like Akira to get anxious or upset; he’s normally very level-headed, willing to adjust to any hiccups, any unforeseen wrenches thrown into a plan, but Yusuke can see that falling away the further into this they get. And it makes sense: this is different than what the Phantom Thieves do. This leaves everyone vulnerable in a way they haven’t really been before, and if Akira’s intense protection over the team in the metaverse is any indication, he’d do anything to save his friends from even the smallest harmful thing. Akira’s even offered to do an entire palace by himself before just so his friends don’t risk injury. Yusuke can see how this is eating away at Akira, at his confidence, and wishes he could take those worry lines on his forehead away. He doesn’t regret their plan--could never regret it now--but perhaps later they could reevaluate their methods.

“It will be fine,” he says empathically, “ _ He  _ will be fine. He cares for you more than anyone else I know; he would never let you go over something this trivial. It’s awkward, naturally, but it’s not the end of anything.”

“What’s not the end of anything?” A voice says from the stairs. Morgana pads down, eyes reflecting the light of the shop, and walks over to Yusuke. In a silent jump Morgana is on the counter, purring happily.

“Akira’s worried about Ryuji,” Yusuke answers, reaching out with his other hand to pet Morgana’s head.

“Is that why he’s been moping around all day?” Morgana asks, shooting a quick glare at Akira, who rolls his eyes in response.

“I haven’t been  _ moping, _ ” Akira defends, but Morganna gives Yusuke a knowing look.

“He has. I thought it was due to our nearing deadline--which, by the way, we need to keep an eye on. We have a week left!”

Akira waves his hand offhandedly and pours the coffee into the mug. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on top of it. There’s a lot going on outside of the palace too, you know.”

Morgana sighs. “I just don’t think we should be choosing  _ now  _ to focus on other things. Medjed is not something we want to mess with.”

Yusuke hums happily as he takes his first sip of the coffee: oaky, Sojiro had apparently said, and oaky was right. It makes Yusuke feel grounded, secure, and warm. He loves what Akira’s coffee can do for him.

“I don’t think--” Yusuke starts, taking another quick sip, “--we have cause for worry. I have faith in our leader,” He says, looking at Akira from over the rim of the cup, smiling to himself.

“W-well obviously I do too!” Morgana shouts, tail starting to puff, “But I don’t want us to get distracted! Especially if  _ Ryuji  _ is the reason,” he sneers.

Akira tosses the towel sitting on the counter at Morgana; it lands squarely on top of his head, damp with spilled coffee and water. He screeches in surprise and discomfort, fur standing on end as he wiggles desperately to get the towel off. The giggle comes out of Akira before he can stop it; once the towel’s off, Morgana just glares.

“Hey, that’s what you get for bad-mouthing my best friend,” Akira shrugs. 

“Karma can be swift,” Yusuke nods, sipping more of his coffee. Morgana holds his glare for a second, then sighs and lets it drop.

“Fine,” he surrenders, “Just...don’t forget we have a mission, okay? There are a lot of people counting on us. We don’t want to let anyone down.”

Akira inhales deeply. “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.”

Morgana steps over to the other side of the counter and brushes up against Akira’s arm, smiling up at him. “I figured,” he says brightly, “And, on that note, I’m going to go to over to Futaba’s again. See if I can’t sneak in one more time and maybe figure out a faster way to beat this palace. If you want to Mementos today, though, just let me know.”

“I don’t think we’ll be going there today,” Akira chuckles lightly. Morgana opens his mouth to ask what’s so funny, but decides better of it and heads upstairs to jump out of the window (it’s a lot easier than trying to open the door as a cat).

Alone together again, Akira steps out from behind the counter and takes a seat next to Yusuke. He runs a hand through his thick hair, staring down at the countertop while Yusuke sips his coffee. They’re content to sit in the silence for a while, both minds busy with thoughts. Akira thinks on the palace, on Futaba’s safety and health, on Ryuji’s wellbeing and heart, on his relationship with Yusuke and how he may be neglecting him in the flurry of other obligations, on Makoto and her pursuit of Ann--he really should text her and see how that’s going, he feels badly for nearly dropping contact with her over the past few days. He feels these things heavy on his shoulders. They’re not bad things, not burdens, but they do weigh on him as time goes and goes. 

Truthfully he’s happy to care so deeply about these friends-turned-family. If anything, the weight of these thoughts are almost comforting, a reminder that he can still feel so deeply after all the shit he’s been through. After the radio silence from who he thought were his friends back home, he’d been worried Tokyo was going to feel emptier than ever. That train ride into the city, no texts on his phone...he felt very alone. He steals a glance at Yusuke, whose brow is furrowed in thought, and Akira smiles; yes, he’s discovered what real friends are like now, and he’d never complain about that. The bonds he’s made so far run deeper than anything he’s ever known--what could be truly troublesome about that?

“What if I do something for him?” Akira asks, breaking into the silence.

“For whom?” says Yusuke, turning to Akira.

“For Ryuji. I have a feeling he’s stressing about talking to me and that’s why he hasn’t reached out. What if I did something for him? Something that made him feel better, put him at ease.”

Yusuke raises his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Hm, that’s not a bad idea. What were you considering?” 

The tell-tale Akira smirk lights up the empty Lablanc cafe. Yusuke’s eyes glint right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I hope this was okay and worth the wait!!!! If it wasn't, the next chapters will!!!!!!! (I hope!!!)**
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING RECAP: Madarame was an emotionally and physically manipulative father-figure to Yusuke and Yusuke feels that he should hate him but can't. Ryuji's impressed that Yusuke could forgive Madarame, since he has trouble forgiving his own father, but Yusuke insists it's weakness, not strength. Ryuji, reflecting on his own abuse, insists it's not Yusuke's fault and that it's normal to have conflicting feelings about your abuser. Together they realize that they're doing their best, that they're too young to be dealing with this shit, and they have an emotional connection they weren't expecting to.


End file.
